


Fade-Touched

by Cryllia



Series: Mydag [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: AU, Character Chronicle, DLC, Dalish Inquisitor, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fade Tongue, Game Spoilers, Ham that tastes of despair, Inquisitor Mahariel, Language, Possible Book Spoilers, Possible Comic/GN Spoilers, SolAss, Solas Smut, Violence, War Table (Dragon Age), Warden-Inqusitior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2017-06-02
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 54,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3373919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryllia/pseuds/Cryllia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She fell out of a Fade rift...and everything changed.  For everyone.</p><p>The story will amaze! The sex will leave you panting!  The head cannon's will amuse!  The personal theories will blow your mind!  Or, ya know...not :)<br/>Almost a Solavellan, but not quite.<br/>Rated 'E' for Eventual Erotica.</p><p>Tags to be added as needed.<br/>Mydag is just the World State, it is unnecessary to have read the previous stories to understand.  Anything that needs to be explained will be, as simply as possible.<br/>AU for world state, non-canon scenes, possible non-linear timeline (that's harder to do in this game), and a non-canon Dalish Inquisitor.</p><p>Now with Beta Reader!  Thank you Orchidellia!!!<br/>I'm editing the older chapters, but there won't be any plot changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Beginning?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve stolen a lot of the beginning dialogue, and for that my apologies. The story will diverge more as we get deeper in, I promise!

She woke to pain – pain that spanned her entire body.  Slowly, achingly, the agony resolved to a horrible burning sensation in her left hand.  She dared to open her eyes only to have her hand crackle with a sickly green light, the pain lancing through her causing her to cry out.  It was then that she noticed the men surrounding her, swords drawn but shaking in terror, and the wooden-board-shackles around her wrists.  She shook her head, confused.  The door to the room (prison?) slammed open and two women entered.  One was sinister; tan skin, dark hair, darker eyes, and so very angry.  The other was quieter, content to hide in the shadows, but somehow familiar.

The angry one spoke, her accent unfamiliar to the woman.  “Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.  The Conclave is destroyed.  Everyone who attended is dead -- except for you.”

The prisoner frowned, stubbornly remaining silent.  She was more confused than ever.  The angry one would not be put off, reaching down to grab the glowing hand.  “Explain this,” she hissed.

Another jolt of pain from the unexpected contact broke through the woman’s resolve.  “I…can’t.”  Her voice was quiet but hard, yet somehow made feminine with a lilt that spoke of adolescence spent in the Brecilian Forest.

“What do you mean you can’t?”

“I don’t know!  I don’t know how that got there.  Or how I got here!”

“You’re lying!” The angry one cried as she went for her sword, but the quiet one intervened.

“We need her, Cassandra.”  The woman’s voice was Orlesian, soft, melodic, and added to the sense of familiarity – if only the pieces would stop tumbling around in her head like so much broken glass.  As least now she had a name for the dark woman.

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you remember what happened?  How this began?” the Orlesian asked.

“I remember running.  Things were chasing me.  A woman.”

She seemed interested by that tidbit.  “A woman?” She prompted.

The prisoner shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs that clouded her memories.  “She…they… reached out to me…….falling….and then….”

Cassandra moved to her partner’s side.  “Go to the forward camp, Leliana.  I will take her to the Rift.”

Now the other woman had a name in the prisoner’s mind.  She frowned.   _Leliana?  It can’t be.  She looks so different.  Acts different.  Older.  Doesn’t she know me?  I just saw her at-_  Her thoughts were interrupted by Cassandra removing the shackles.  Leliana was gone.

“You say you don’t understand what we are talking about.  Very well.  Come.  I will show you,” Cassandra motioned for her to follow.

They emerged out of the building that turned out to be a Chantry.  At first the amount of light overwhelmed her, but she quickly realized that it was more than that.  There was a wrongness to the sky that she could see but not comprehend.  There was a hole in the sky itself, and it was a sickly green that lent everything a yellow-green hue.  She felt ill.

“We call it ‘The Breach’.  It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour.  It’s not the only such rift.  Just the largest.  All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.”

“An explosion can do that?”

“This one did.  Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.”

The Breach chose that moment to pulse and her hand crackled and pulsed in returned, sending burning lightning through her very core.  She screamed and fell to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks.  Cassandra took a knee next to her, her voice intense.

“Each time the Breach expands, your mark spreads… and it is killing you.  It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.”

Her training kicked in and she found herself answering before she had even really thought about it.  “I understand.  Whatever it takes.”   _Our motto,_ she thought to herself.

Cassandra allowed herself a small smile of approval before helping the prisoner to her feet and hauling her through some kind of encampment.

“They have decided your guilt.  They need it.  The people of Haven mourn our Most Holy, Divine Justina, head of the Chantry.  The Conclave was hers.”

Again, her head reeled.   _Haven?  This was Haven?  It couldn’t be.  Haven was filled with insane cultists who worshiped a dragon they thought was Andraste returned.  And then--_ Once more her thoughts were cut short as Cassandra continued.

“It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars.  She brought their leaders together.  Now they are dead.  We lash out like the sky but we must think beyond ourselves, as she did, until the Breach is sealed.”  Cassandra pulled a small knife and cut the last of her bindings.  “There will be a trial.  I can promise no more.”

“A trial?”  She scoffed.  “Assuming that thing doesn’t kill me first, and that I live through your plan, whatever that is, then you force me to face your villagers with your human justice who have already decided my guilt.”

Cassandra didn’t deign the comment with a direct response, instead giving her a directive.  "Come.  We must test your mark on something smaller than the Breach first."

The woman had no idea what Cassandra meant, but followed her lead, having little other choice.  The world they passed through was a war zone.  Corpses lay frozen in the snow as they dodged barricades and debris that had been set on fire.  Every so often the tear in the sky would pulse and shoot out green bolts of something, sending scorching pain through her hand as she hissed.  Eventually they came to a bridge.  The sky chose that moment to pulse once more, the bolt collapsing the bridge under them.  The two women managed to roll to safety, barely avoiding the heavy stones that crushed less fortunate soldiers.  Cassandra recovered before the prisoner did, drawing her sword and shield to face the demon that drew up in front of them.

“Stay behind me!”

The woman was all too content to do just that, but another demon bubbled into existence before her.  Frantic, she looked around for anything to defend herself and spotted a broken crate of weapons from the collapsed bridge.  She snagged a bow and a few arrows, stringing it expertly, pleased that the draw weight was not too much for her.  The pain in her hand forced her shots wide and careless, and she found herself thankful that Cassandra wasn’t hurt in the process.  Even so, her efforts managed to drive the demon back long enough for the warrior to reach her.

“Drop.  Your.  Weapon.”  Cassandra demanded.  The prisoner rolled her eyes, but obeyed silently.  “Wait.  I can’t protect you alone, and you did choose to help us and I should remember that.  Keep it.”

The woman bowed her thanks, mockingly, but Cassandra seemed to accept it, either not acknowledging or not realizing it for what it was.  The two women advanced further, battling towards the strange light in the sky that loomed ever larger overhead.  Cassandra shouted a warning just before they reached the first true battle that was centered around a green tear in the sky, similar to the Breach but smaller.  The warrior-woman immediately plunged into the fray, eager to help her comrades.  The prisoner was less assured that her help would be welcome, her aiming still unstable enough that she dared not shoot directly into combat.  As she looked for stragglers, she observed those fighting.  There was Cassandra, of course, with her sword and shield.  There was a dwarf with an impressive crossbow and even more impressive chest-hair.  There were a handful of soldiers.  And there was-- a demon reared up directly in front of her, another behind her.  She panicked, the fear welling up within her and surging forth.  The demon in front of her froze on the spot.  Behind her she felt a wave of heat and heard a death gurgle.  Cassandra’s sword smashed the frozen one to shards.  Before she could react she felt a vice grip around her left wrist.

“Quickly, before more come through!”  His voice was melodic and soothing despite the urgency, even as he shoved her hand into the tear itself.  It burned its way into her very soul and she sobbed once, but managed not to scream as the tear vanished into her mark.

She looked accusingly at the man, a bald unmarked elf.  “What did you do?”

“I did nothing.”  He looked disturbingly pleased.  “The credit is yours.”

She glared at her hand.  "You mean this."

"Whatever magic opened the Breach in the sky also placed that mark upon your hand.  I theorized the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach’s wake – and it seems I was correct.”

“Meaning it could also close the Breach itself,” Cassandra noted.

“Possibly.  It seems you hold the key to our salvation.”

“Good to know!  Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” the dwarf piped up as he adjusted his shooting glove.  “Varric Tethras: rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.”  He winked at Cassandra who snorted in disgust.

She frowned.  "Are you with the Chantry, or…?"

The elf let out a chuckle of disbelieving laughter.  “Was that a serious question?”

“Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you,” Varric answered, looking at his feet.

Cassandra frowned.  “I brought you here to tell your story to the Divine.  Clearly that is no longer necessary.”

“Yet, here I am.  Lucky for you, considering current events.”

The prisoner rolled her eyes, fed up with the ‘friendly’ banter between them when there was more at stake – namely her life.  “So.  I closed the rift.  What now?”

“Now we go to meet Leliana.” Cassandra answered.

“What a great idea!” grinned Varric.

“Absolutely not!  Your help is appreciated, Varric, but…”

“Have you been in the valley lately, Seeker?” the dwarf asked seriously.  “Your soldiers aren’t in control anymore.  You need me.”  The two stared at each other for a moment, something unspoken passing between them before Cassandra turned away in defeat.

The elven man drew attention back to himself.  “My name is Solas, if there are to be introductions.  I am pleased to see you still live.”

“He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept’,” Varric translated with a grin.

“You seem to know a great deal about it all.”

Solas turned to the warrior-woman.  “Cassandra, you should know: the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen.  Although your prisoner is a mage, I find it difficult to imagine any mage having such power.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide.  “What?  What are you talking about?  I am no mage.”

Cassandra nodded.  “Like you, Solas is an apostate.”

“Indeed.  Technically, all mages are apostates now.  My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any Circle mage, however.  I came to offer whatever help I can give with the Breach.  If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

“But I’m not a mage!”

“We all saw what you did to those demons.  There is no need to hide it any longer.”  The woman frowned, annoyed that no one believed her.

“Understood.”  Cassandra’s voice cut through the debate.  “We must get to the forward camp quickly.”

“Well, Bianca’s excited!” Varric proclaimed, leaving her wondering a great many things, starting with whom Bianca was.  The group moved down the bank, using the snowdrifts as uneven stairs.  Another group of demons stopped them, but now there were four of them – three if she were honest with herself, since she was still useless in battle.

Solas looked at her curiously, his lilting voice oddly familiar.  "You are Dalish, but clearly away from the rest of your clan.  Did they send you here?"

“What do you know of the Dalish?” she asked, deflecting the question.

“I have wandered many roads in my time, and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion.”

She could guess what ‘crossed paths’ meant; the Dalish were notoriously xenophobic to outsiders.  Rather than start a fight with someone who might yet be an ally, she chose to keep her tongue.

“It is silence, then.  As you wish.”

The woman sighed to herself – there was no winning that fight, it seemed.  The sky pulsed again, and her hand with it.  The sensation was becoming familiar, but no less painful.

Solas noted as her hand clenched involuntarily and her facial features winced.  “My magic cannot stop your mark from growing further.  For your sake, I suggest we hurry.”

She could only agree in silence and follow Cassandra up a trail towards a gate.  She cried out as the air in front of them split open and demons poured out of it.  The guards begged for help and the others surged forth to do battle while she watched.

“Use the mark!  Quickly!”  His voice was like a beacon, calling her to action.  She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to ‘use’ it.  She breathed in and she raised her hand all the same, willing the tear to close, to heal.  Instead she felt the energy being released into the air sucked into the mark in her hand, searing into her very soul.  She closed her eyes, begging for the sensation to end.  An eternity later it did and she peeled her eyes open to find the rift had vanished.

“The rift is gone!  Open the gates!”  Cassandra commanded.

“Right away, Lady Cassandra!” The guards answered.  The gates creaked open.

“We are clear for the moment.  Well done,” Solas complimented.

Varric helped her to her feet.  “Whatever that thing on your hand is, it’s useful.”

Not one of them had any idea.  She breathed out.

The group, led by Cassandra, approached a small tent and table where Leliana was arguing loudly with a cleric who stood at the sight of them.

“Ah, here they come.”

She immediately disliked his knowing tone, the gleam of superiority in his eyes.  Leliana attempted introductions.  “You made it.  Chancellor Roderick, this is –“

“I know who she is.”  His tone was nothing but disdain.  “As Grand Chancellor of the Chantry, I hereby order you to take this criminal to Val Royeaux to face execution.”

She growled, low and throaty, stopping the man in his tracks.  Cassandra had been about to retort, but she too was brought up short by the unexpected noise.

“Tell me then, little man.  Who am I?” the prisoner all but hissed, suddenly inches from his face.  His eyes grew wide.  “I certainly don’t recall telling you my name.  I do not recognize your authority over me.  I do not follow your Chantry and I never have, nor, as I recall, does your Chantry have any secular power over criminal acts beyond those of mages – which I am not.  I awaken as a prisoner in a completely unfamiliar place, surrounded by unknown people, with a strange and extremely painful mark on my hand.  I am given neither an explanation for my present circumstances nor a chance to explain myself before I am thrown into a chaos well beyond my ken, and not once has anyone even asked me for my name.”

“You have no right to-“ the Chancellor attempted to bluster, but the woman simply narrowed her eyes, another growl emitting from her.

“Try.  Again.”

“This is unnecessary.  We know who you are.  You are a Dalish elf from Clan Lavellan in the Free Marches, sent to spy on the Conclave.”

“Wrong.”

“Excuse me?”

“Humans and their assumptions.  The only thing you are right about is that I’m Dalish.  My clan is not Lavellan.  Our home was not the Free Marches.  I have no idea what this Conclave is.  What this Mage-Templar war is about.  What any of this is about.”

Cassandra huffed, irritated.  “Does it matter, right now?  We must get to the temple and close the Breach!”

“Agreed,” Leliana nodded.  “But a direct charge is not the safest route.  Our forces can charge as a distraction while we go through the mountains.”

“We lost contact with an entire squad on that path.  It is too risky,” Cassandra protested.

The Chancellor pleaded, “Listen to me.  Abandon this plan now, before more lives are lost.”

The Breach chose that moment to pulse again, setting the woman’s hand glowing and crackling as she swallowed a scream.  Cassandra turned to her.  “What do you want to do?”

“Why do you care what I think?” the prisoner panted.

“It is you who must get to the Temple alive.”

“And you are the one who bears the mark,” Solas added.

She closed her eyes against the snow and the waiting eyes boring into her.  Being the leader was not her place.  She was a follower, but no more it would seem.  What would _she_ say?  “Take the mountain path.  Work together.  You all know what’s at stake.”

They accepted her decision without question.  She hoped not too many died in her name.  A name they didn’t even know.  On the other side of the mining tunnels another rift had torn open the very air.  She could feel its presence long before Solas announced it to her.  The demons were more plentiful, but the scouts managed to help and were quickly put away.  She took a breath and pulled the rift into herself, barely hearing Solas’ words of praise over the roar of pain in her core.

“Sealed, as before.  You are becoming quite proficient at this.”

“Let’s hope it works on the big one,” Varric snarked.

Cassandra helped the lead scout to her feet, a dwarven woman, and they exchanged a few quiet words before looking at her.  She shrugged and the group dropped further into the valley and to the Temple, proper.

It was a temple no longer.  Jagged spikes of rock, large as a dragon but glowing with the same sickly green light as the sky.  Bodies were frozen into statues of ashen rock, their terror forever frozen on their faces.  Some knelt in prayer, hands lifted to their Maker in fearful supplication.  Others were simply running for their lives.  Two stood in a corner, holding each other close as their deaths took them.  She walked among them, tears streaming freely down her face.  It may not have been her religion, but such a massacre was still a horror, and it affected her.

“That is where you walked out of the Fade and our soldiers found you.”  Cassandra’s voice was soft, though if it was in respect for the dead or reverence of what was seen, she was unsure.  “They say a woman was in the rift behind you.  No one knows who she was.”

She knew who it was, though she was loathe to say it, as if doing so would somehow disgrace the memory of these people’s suffering.  Instead she entered the temple.  Leliana was moments behind.

“You’re here!  Thank the Maker!”

“Leliana, have your men take up positions around the temple,” Cassandra ordered.

The prisoner was far more interested in the Breach itself.  Miles above them, yet directly overhead, it filled the entire sky.  Far closer was another rift.  A huge one.  She could feel it tugging at the mark on her hand, tingling just on the edge of pain.

“This is your chance to end this.  Are you ready?”  Cassandra asked, interrupting her musings.

“I’m assuming you have a plan to get me up there?”

“No,” Solas shook his head.  Even he could not tear his eyes away from the hole in the sky.  “This rift was the first, and it is the key.  Seal it, and perhaps we seal the Breach.”

There seemed little else to say.  With Leliana’s soldiers, they made their way further into the temple.

“Now is the hour of our victory.” A voice, male and powerful boomed out across the temple.  Everyone jumped, looking around for the source.  “Bring forth the sacrifice.”  There was none.

“What are we hearing?” Cassandra asked, trepidation filling her voice.

“At a guess: the person who created the Breach,” Solas answered.  They continued on.

Yellow-green bled to orange-red rock and Varric gasped in shock.  “This is red lyrium, Seeker!”

“I see it, Varric.”

“But what’s it doing here?”

Solas offered a theory.  “Magic could have drawn on the lyrium beneath the temple, corrupted it…”

“It’s evil.  Whatever you do, don’t touch it,” the dwarf cautioned.

The voice chose that moment to boom out again, along with another voice.  “Keep the sacrifice still.”

“Someone, help me!”

“That is Diving Justinia’s voice!” Cassandra cried.

They dropped to the lowest level of the temple.  The prisoner’s hand glowed and pulsed in time with the rift, and for a moment the whole place was consumed by a vision playing out before them:

_A shadowy figure, too large to be human, or even qunari, its eyes glowing the same red as the lyrium rocks they had just seen.  Before the figure was a woman, her arms wrapped in magical energies, clearly unable to move.  In greyscale a vision of the prisoner enters.  She takes in the scene before her.  “What just happened?” she asks, her brow furrowed in confusion.  The woman turns, shouting.  “Run while you can!  Warn them!”  It is too late.  “We have an intruder.  Slay the elf!”  He points with an overly long finger._

The scene exploded into light.  Cassandra exploded into demands of explanations.  “You were there!  Who attacked?  And the Divine, is she…?  Was this vision true?  What are we seeing?”

“I don’t know!  I don’t remember!”  The prisoner growled.

“Echoes of what happened here.”  Solas’ voice was calm.  “The Fade bleeds into this place.  This rift is not sealed, but it is closed… albeit temporarily.  I believe that with the mark, the rift can be opened, and then sealed properly and safely.  However, opening the rift will likely attract attention from the other side.”

“That means demons!” Cassandra cautioned the soldiers who were listening attentively.  “Stand ready!”

The woman waited until they were in position before attempting anything.  Then she thrust her hand at the tear.  Nothing happened.  She took a breath and tried again.  Still nothing.  Suddenly Solas was at her side, whispering in her ear.

“Feel the mark, the connection to the Fade through it.  Use it to push the rift open, welcome it into this world.”

She did.  Giving instead of taking, pushing, instead of pulling.  It was a release, like a cool breeze.  Less so was the pride demon who took her offer, laughing at this newfound freedom.  Solas was gone from her side, battling the creature with everything he had.

“We must find a way to weaken it!  Find a hole in its defenses!” Cassandra called.

“Its power comes from the Fade.  Break its connection!”  Solas was looking at the prisoner as he spoke.

She swallowed and braced herself, taking the power she had offered back, burning its way through her nerves and into her neck.  It wasn’t enough.  She tried again and lost her ability to taste, her tongue searing.  The monster fell to a knee, but remained in place.  Once more she tried, and this time she felt her skin bubbling from the heat.

“Now!  Close the rift!”  Cassandra called as the soldiers finished the hideous demon off.  “Do it.”

She raised herself one last time and poured every ounce of her will into it, begging the rift to close, even if it killed her.  She could feel the heat radiating off her in waves.  She glanced to her companions.  They were all focused on the rift.  Cassandra’s eyes bright with hope, Varric’s hard with determination, and Solas’ worried – all but begging for this to work.  With a last effort she pulled the rift into herself, screaming as she did so.  There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t on fire.  Then everything went mercifully black.


	2. What’s in a Name

Awareness slowly crept back into her.  The first thing she noticed was that, although the pain and heat in her hand were still there, they had lessened considerably.  With a groan she sat up, fully expecting to find herself back in a prison cell.  Instead, she found herself in a sparsely appointed home.  A startled gasp and the clatter of something dropped caught her attention.  Turning, she saw an elven child, or possibly just a flat-ear – it was hard for her to tell the difference when they were young.

“I-I’m so sorry.  I didn’t think…”  She looked terrified and the prisoner woman suppressed the urge to roll her eyes.

“Where am I?”

“You’re back in Haven, my lady,” the younger elf began to grovel.  “Everyone is talking about it!  The mark on your hand has stopped growing, just as the Breach!  But… Lady Cassandra will want to know you’re awake.  She’s in the Chantry.  At once she said.  At once!”  The girl bolted from the one room hovel.

She grimaced, but got out of bed, finding herself dressed in a drab grey tunic and leggings.  There were a pair of boots by the bed but she ignored them and trailed in the girl’s wake instead.  There were a few groups gathered who whispered heatedly as she passed.  Her elven ears twitched, catching their murmurs.

“That’s her!  That’s the Herald of Andraste!”

“She’s the one who stopped the breach from growing more!”

“Wasn’t she supposed to close it?”

“Why’d Andraste choose an elf?”

“I heard she’s a mage…”

“Is she really chosen?”

Fortunately, the Chantry -- the gigantic stone structure towering over the makeshift buildings that made up most of the new Haven -- was hard to miss.  Harder still to miss was the bellowing tones of the Chancellor arguing with Cassandra and Leliana.  She barged in, startling the guards on the other side.

“Chain her!  I want her prepared for transport to the capital immediately!” Roderick began.  Cassandra began to reply, but the prisoner beat her too it.

“Oh, shut it, will you?”  The man’s mouth snapped shut in surprise.  The guards paused, not sure what to do in such a situation.  “I came to see Cassandra and Leliana, not you.  Clearly, I’m not a prisoner anymore or I would have had an armed escort here.  I could have run when I woke up, but I didn’t.”  She sighed, not used to speaking so much.

“Agreed,” Cassandra nodded, and looked at the guards.  “Please leave us.”  The two guardsmen bowed and left.

“You tread a dangerous path, Seeker,” Roderick cautioned.

“The Breach is stable, but it is still a threat.  I will not ignore it,” Cassandra retorted.  “Nor is it the only one.”

The Chancellor looked affronted.  “I am a suspect?”

“You.  And many others,” Leliana affirmed.

“But not her?”

“No.  We were there at the Temple.  We heard what was said.  The Most Holy called out to her for help.  She was the only one to survive the explosion, and she bears a mark that gives us power over the rifts to the Fade that are threatening us.”

“Coincidence,” scoffed Roderick.

“Providence,” Cassandra argued.  “The Maker put her where she was needed most, and there is work yet to be done, as you well know.”

At that, the elven woman laughed.  “On that, I’m with the Chancellor.  You’ve got to be joking.  I heard the people out there.  ‘The Herald of Andraste’?  If I’ve been chosen by anyone, it wasn’t your Maker or his woman, sorry.”

“It doesn’t matter.  The Most Holy is dead and her real murderer has yet to be found and brought to justice.  The mages and Templars continue their war, each blaming the other.  Most importantly, the Breach has stopped growing, but it not sealed.  There are rifts opening everywhere and demons pour from them, threatening anyone nearby, and you are the only one who has any effect at all on them.”

The prisoner crossed her arms over her chest.  “I don’t believe this.  You need my help again.”

Roderick shook his head.  “Absolutely not.  You’ve done enough.”

Cassandra slammed a huge hard leather-bound book on the table between them.  “Do you know what this is, Chancellor?”  He shook his head in negation.  “A writ from the Divine, granting us the authority to act.  As of this moment I declare the Inquisition reborn.  We will close the Breach, we will find those responsible, and we will restore order, with or without your approval.”

The Chancellor glared at everyone in the room for a moment before snorting in disbelief and stomping out.  The prisoner watched everything with a bemused look on her face, her eyebrows raising at Cassandra’s declaration.  Leliana moved to stand at Cassandra’s side, to explain.  “This is the Divine’s directive: rebuild the Inquisition of old, find those who will stand against the chaos.  We aren’t ready.  We have no leader, no numbers, and now no Chantry support.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Cassandra repeated.  “We have no choice.  Our hand has been forced by these events.  We must act now, and with you at our side.”

The elven woman chuckled to herself.  “You know nothing of me, not even my name, but you’d have me work side by side with you?  Either you’re very trusting, or very desperate.”

Leliana smiled, but there was no warmth in it.  “Weren’t you listening?  We are desperate.  That doesn’t mean that we trust unconditionally.”

“Nor should you.  Especially you, Leliana.”  The woman hopped up on the table, legs swinging.

“And why is that?” the Orlesian woman asked, brows furrowing.

“Because we know each other, but you’re acting like you have no idea who I am.  Because you look far older than the last time I saw you.  Because I’m not a mage, but you’re all insisting I am.  Because… because…”  She sighed, head hanging as she ran out of words.

The two other women looked at each other, concerned.  Leliana spoke first.  “Why don’t we start at the beginning then?  What is your name?”

“You always called me Vena.  Vena Mahariel.  Of the Grey Wardens.”

Leliana stared for a long moment, the silence stretching to the breaking point and then beyond.  “Impossible,” the redhead finally whispered.  “Vena is dead.  She died in the Blight.”

“Obviously not.  But for what it’s worth, I have no memories between there and here.  The last clear memory I have is in the Alienage of Denerim.  I was running across the bridge towards the Fort as planned. We’d lost people.  Da’fen fell behind, so I ran back to get her.  There was a green blast and then… nothing.  Everything goes blurry or black or pain.  The next thing I know for sure is waking up in your prison with Cassandra threatening to kill me.  Fenedhis!  Da’fen!  Where is she?  Is she here?”

Cassandra shook her head.  “The soldiers who found you in the Temple reported that you were alone.  There was no one with you.”

“You look… very different, Vena,” Leliana ventured hesitantly.  “But, now that you’ve said it, the same.  Like ten years haven’t passed for you at all.”

“Ten… years?”  Vena’s eyes bulged.  “And what do you mean different?”  She had had no access to mirrors since she’d woken up.  Leliana went to find one that was both big enough and portable while Cassandra painted the last ten years in broad strokes for Vena.

Nearly all of Vena’s companions had died in the assault on Denerim, including herself.  Alistair had become King of Ferelden.  Andra Cousland was an advisor and possibly a lover according to rumor, but there was another who also fought for her affections – another of Alistair’s advisors, but Cousland vanished sometime in 9:32.  No one knew where she had gone.  Mirun Brosca was named Warden-Commander of Ferelden and took care of the Thaw.  She was still serving in that capacity, as far as Cassandra knew.  Meanwhile the tensions between mages and Templars continued to grow.  It culminated in 9:37 in the Free Marches city-state called Kirkwall when a mage blew up the local Chantry with the Grand Cleric still inside.  It led to further rebellions by the Circles and further restrictions being taken by the Templars – the whole thing ending with the Circle declaring for their freedom and more than a few Templars questioning their vows and purpose.  Now it was 9:41 and every mage was considered an apostate and everything was in upheaval across Thedas.  The Conclave had been Divine Justinia’s desperate attempt for peace talks.

Leliana returned with a large mirror that she set up on the table, a small cloth covering it.  “Are you ready?”  Vena swallowed noisily and nodded.  Leliana pulled away the cloth with no ceremony, and Vena stared.

The visage that stared back at her from the glass was the same one that she knew, but… off.  Her skin was the same sun-kissed tan.  Her eyes were the same oval shape that slanted slightly upwards at the edges of her face.  Her cheekbones were still high and sharp, her nose a little too long.  Her hair was the same length, bound in a foxtail at the nape of her neck by a simple leather thong.  Her vallaslin in the same bizarre pattern that marked her as ‘other’ from the Dalish.  But all the other colors were wrong.  Before, her color palette had been a monotone grey; pale grey eyes, grey-white hair, grey vallaslin.   Now she practically bled color – the same sickly green-yellow color that came from the Breach.  The same color that came from the mark on her hand.  Her eyes practically glowed with the color.  

Her vallaslin was given the same hue, though it was far more subdued.  A green-yellow slash, the same color as her eyes streaked horizontally across her face from brow to brow.  It dipped gracefully down the sides of her nose, enhancing the length and sharpness there, and fanned out under her cheekbones, accentuating them as well.  It colored her full lower lip, but did not trail down her chin as vallaslin often did.  Her neck was circled in another thick band of grey color – a permanent necklace where her chin met her neck.  Her hair that had been almost white now was a multitude of colors ranging from black to grey to white and even some shades of blonde, giving her the appearance of some kind of animal pelt, impossible to describe as any one color.

“Wha-what… what happened to me?” Vena finally asked.

“We have no idea.  This is how you came to us – straight from the Fade,” Cassandra answered.

“A question for our resident Fade expert, perhaps,” added Leliana with a smirk.

“More importantly, now that your questions have been answered… will you join us?”

Vena frowned.  “I’ve told you, I wasn’t sent by your Maker.  I’m not your ‘Herald’.  I won’t be a figurehead for you to base a holy war on, or a body that happens to be attached to the mark that you need to use.”

Leliana nodded.  “Nor would we ask you to be.  You’d have an equal part in this.  We need you.  In return, we could keep you safe from any repercussions the Chantry, or anyone else might try to bring against you.”

“All right…for now.  I’m still me, Leliana, and walls have never suited me.”


	3. Introductions

Proper introductions were made once the Inquisition was real, and the ‘inner circle’ was gathered.  Leliana, now known as ‘Sister Nightingale’, Spymaster, Left Hand of the Divine, told her more details of the end of the blight.  Cassandra Pentaghast, Seeker, Right Hand of the Divine, and Hero of Orlais, told her details of the Conclave.  Cullen Rutherford, Commander, Templar, and former Knight-Commander, told her of the Mage-Templar war.  Josephine Montilyet, Ambassador and Diplomat, told her how the world was falling apart beyond that war – Orlais was in civil war, too.  Solas, elven apostate and expert on the Fade, spoke of how the Breach opened directly through the Veil and into the Fade.  Varric Tethras, rogue and author, informed her of the events in Kirkwall.  Vena Mahariel, Dalish hunter, marked, lost, and ‘Herald of Andraste’ explained her situation.

“Whatever you were before, you’re a mage now,” Cullen said frowning.  “And the Breach presents more threats to fully trained mages than ever before, never mind those just coming into their powers.  You…  I can’t even begin to imagine.”

“Fortunately, you don’t have to, Commander,” Solas said quietly.  The blond turned, eyes narrowing.  “I propose that I teach her what she needs to know.  I am a mage, and I have a unique insight into the Fade that may be necessary for controlling her particular type of magic.  And unlike the mages you have gathered here, I was self-taught, which means that I know how to teach outside of the classrooms your kind would use to contain her.”

Cullen and Cassandra exchanged a worried glance.  “Alright, Solas,” Cassandra conceded.  “On the condition that either I, Cullen, or one of the other Templars are nearby should the worst occur.”

“You mean if she turns into an abomination?  I assure you, I’m more than capable of handling such an occasion on my own.”

“I’m right here,” Vena grumbled.

“Of course,” Cullen countered, ignoring Vena.  “But that’s no reason for precautions to not be taken, for the safety of others if not yourself.”

Solas continued, “Precautions, yes, but I suspect you’d be little more than a distraction which is more likely to lead to catastrophe rather than less.  You might recall that we’d prefer her alive?”

“Right. Here.”

“Obviously we want her alive.  The mark is necessary to-“

Vena strode out of the room, leaving Cullen open mouthed in surprise.  Outside she took a deep breath of the cold mountain air and stared balefully at the hole in the sky.  A soldier bowed slightly as he walked by, muttering something about ‘Blessings of the Maker on you, Herald.’  Her jaw clenched as she resisted the urge to scream and practically ran for the gates and the forest beyond, not caring about the easily tracked footprints she left in the snow.  It was there, in the silence of the woods and snow that the magnitude of what had happened to her finally hit.  She collapsed, sobbing, but tearless.  Everything she had, everything she knew, was gone.

“Are you alright?”  The soft lilt of Solas’ voice made her startle, but she refused to move from her position in the snowdrift.

“No.”  She knew her own accent was similar to his own.  It felt foolish to find comfort in something so small and unimportant, but her heart clung to it like a child waking from a nightmare would cling to a parent.  The other elf allowed the silence to grow between them, letting her find the words she needed in her own time.  “Emma him banal.  Ir banalin.  Vhenbanal.”   _I have become nothing.  Inside, I am nothing.  I belong to no one._  She sighed and sat up out of the drift, her tunic and pants soaked.  “Sorry.  You don’t speak elven, I’m sure.  This is too much.  I have nothing left.”

“Your clan?”

“I said goodbye to my clan when I became a Grey Warden, but truth be told, I was always a bit of a black sheep.  I knew I could never return to them, philosophically.  But now… now there’s nothing.  I was just beginning to understand.  To form-” Vena sighed again.  “It doesn’t matter.  They’re all dead or gone.  Or think I’m dead.  Maybe I am.”  She turned to Solas.  “You’re an expert, right?  Am I?  Dead, I mean.”

“You’re asking if you’re a spirit come through a rift?  If you are, it’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.  Most undead are… unpleasant to deal with.  Hungry, unthinking creatures whose only desire is to destroy what they cannot have.  A sad fate.”

“You feel bad for demons?”

“Spirits.  Demons are simply spirits twisted by mortal emotion and expectation.  If you understand their nature, they can be fast allies.  Some of my most treasured friends are spirits.”

Vena thought about that.  “Mage,” she finally said.  It was not spit in hatred, but simply spoken with acceptance.  “And now I am one too.  I know what happens to mages who can’t control themselves.  We fought a few in the Blight.  I’m sorry I stormed out.”

Solas nodded, accepting the apology.  “It’s understandable.  As you said, it’s a lot to take in, becoming the blessed Herald of Andraste, a hero come to save us all.”

At that Vena did scream, making the male elf jump and stare incredulously.  “This!  This is why I left!”  She poked him in the center of his chest.  “I’m not anyone’s Herald or a hero.  And you and him, fighting over what to do with me.  The best way to train me, like I’m some kind of pet who has to be taught how to not piss on the carpet!  Like it would be inconvenient if I died because you’d lose the mark – because you don’t care about me.  I told Cassandra and Leliana I was going to walk away if that was the only reason anyone wanted me here.  I can find ways to help on my own.”

“Ir abelas, da’len.  But a title, even an incorrect one, can be helpful.  In this case, I think very much so.  It will give the people something to rally behind.  A driving force that will pull them together during this crisis.  We did not mean to minimize you or your part in this, but to have an untrained mage in combat is a danger to everyone. Ma isala’din u.” _You needn’t be alone._

Vena’s eyes widened, her cheeks reddening.  “You… speak elven.”  Solas nodded, a smile playing at his lips.  “I must look like quite the pretentious fool.”

“No more so than any other Dalish I have met.”

“Ir abelas, hahren.  If you’re willing to teach me I would welcome it, but I fear I will be a terrible student.”

“Very well.  Your first order of business is to return and apologize to Commander Cullen.”

Vena nodded, and the two returned to the meeting room within the Chantry.  “Commander, I’m sorry for my outburst earlier,” Vena started.  “It was childish and uncalled for.”

“Oh!  Um.  Thank you.”  Cullen blinked, and reached to rub the back of his neck nervously.  “Part of the fault lies with me.  I was treating you unfairly, without thinking about how all this must be affecting you.”

“So we’re all playing nice again?  Great!”  Varric smiled around the table.  “Is Chuckles going to teach you then?”

“Chuckles?” Vena blinked.  “Who is-“

“That would be me,” Solas accepted the title with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“It’s his boundless optimism!”  Varric explained.  “I mean, why else would an elven apostate help crazy Chantry folk close a hole in the sky?”

“When you put it like that, I must concede your point.”  Solas shook his head, his lips twitching.  

“Regardless, the answer is yes.  Vena has accepted my tutelage under whatever terms the Commander, Seeker, and I work out.”

“Good.  Then we can move on to figuring out what the next step is.  Or, you can.  War isn’t my strong suit.  I’m going to work on a new chapter.”  With that, Varric sketched a bow to everyone and stepped out of the room.

“For now, I would suggest strengthening our position; train the troops we have, prepare for the backlash from the chantry, find what allies might be out there for us, and see if we can make any headway on what happened at the Conclave,” Cullen said.

“I will send people back to the Temple to see what they might find,” Cassandra offered, “but I doubt we will find anything new.  Still, with the threat of demons gone, perhaps we will find something we missed before.”

Leliana nodded.  “My people can quietly search out those that might support us in the surrounding areas.”

“My ears will be open for news from my contacts on the Chantry’s stance,” Josephine provided.

“And I suppose I stand here and glow inspiringly.” Vena did not look amused.

“No,” Leliana, Cassandra, Cullen, and Solas all spoke at once.  Solas took the lead.  “Starting tomorrow, you will be training in every waking moment, and several sleeping moments as well.  Learning to properly control and use mage powers takes years, and that is for a child whose mind is easily molded.  You do not have such a luxury of time.”

“Why not now?”

“I assumed you wanted some time to take in all the changes, and I need some time to consider the best way to begin your schooling.  In fact, I shall start on that immediately.  Excuse me.”

There was a pregnant pause before Vena got the hint.  “I guess…I’ll go too?  Yeah.”  She spent some time wandering Haven, which she couldn’t help but term ‘New Haven’ in her mind, meeting the people who made it tick.  The quartermaster quickly made her list of people to avoid at all costs, both for being a shemlen who disliked elves and a staunch supporter of Loghain’s betrayal.  The local healer was as insolent as she was, but to good effect, which made her smile.  Further, he told her of the near fatal fever that took her after the events of the Temple that had taken both him and Solas to combat, for which she thanked him.  Vena also met the Inquisition smith.

“You her?  The Herald?”  His accent was pure Ferelden.

The Dalish woman shook her head.  “That’s what some people are calling me, but no, I’m no Herald.  Call me Vena.”

“Right then, Herald.  I’d have had some gear ready for you, but I’m not really sure what kind of fighter you are.  Didn’t want to give you the wrong thing.”

“Vena.  Please.  And…I don’t know either.”

“What?!  You’re not a fighter?!  Shit.”

“No!  No, I am, I’m an archer, but… things have changed since the mark.  I-“ She sighed.  “I’m apparently going to be trained as a mage.  I still intend to carry a bow though.”

The smith narrowed his eyes, thinking.  “Right.  Let me think about that for a bit.  I’ll get you set up proper.  For now, take these.  Basic mage clothes for your practice there and basic archer armor for when you practice that.”

Vena took the pile of clothing thrust at her with a nod of thanks and went back to the small house she woke up in to change before finding her way to the training grounds.  A spare bow, a quiver of arrows, and a private target hung on a tree well away from the others was all the setup she needed.  As her left hand gripped the bow, she could feel the buzz of power from the mark – the heat of it.  She tried to ignore it as she nocked an arrow and drew in a smooth motion.  Between the space of one breath and the next the mark flared green, her hand spasming, and sending the arrow wide of the target.  The next arrow was the same.  The third was worse.  The fourth caused her to drop the bow as she cried out in pain and dropped her hand to the snow, seeking its cool.  It melted at her touch.  She picked up the bow and began again.

The sun set and Vena had no better control over her own body or situation than when she started.  She sighed loudly and went to pick up her arrows for a final time in the dusk-light before returning.  She no doubt had long since missed whatever passed for dinner, but found she had little appetite anyway.  The soft crunch of snow pricked at her ears and she spun to see who would try to sneak up on her.  She was surprised to see Solas, hands behind his back, eyes on the stars.

“I thought we didn’t start until tomorrow,” Vena grumbled, her failure and hand still stinging.

“So we do.  Your absence at supper was noted, however, and worried Commander Cullen.  Given that I’m both your teacher and the one who kept your mark from killing you I seemed the best choice to track you down.  Again.”  Solas’ eyes slid from the heavens to her form.

“I didn’t run away,” she said defensively.  “I was... ugh.  It doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does.  What have you been trying to accomplish that you vanished so completely for an entire afternoon?”

Vena shook her head, frustrated.  “I’m a hunter.  An archer.  But I can’t hold a bow long enough to be any use.  It hurts.  This thing hurts.”

That got his attention.  “What do you mean, it hurts?  From everything I can tell, it shouldn’t be more than an annoying buzz.”

“Well it is.  A lot more.  It…” Vena searched for the words, wanting to make sure she described it accurately.  “It burns.  All the time.  When it flares it shoots down my arm like if I’d hit my funny-bone, but with fire.  When I close a rift, I pull its power into me, and it’s so hot.  It feels like it’s burning me alive.  When I tried to close the Breach-“  She shook her head, frowning.

“May I?”  Solas held out his hand.  Vena offered the marked one hesitantly.  His grip was firm and sure as his fingers pressed against the mark.  “Does that do anything?”  Vena shook her head no.  “Odd.  Your hand has a fever.  It goes up your arm somewhat, but lessens.  Are you feeling alright?”

“Fine.”

“After the Temple you had a terrible fever.  It never occurred to me that the cause might be the mark.”  His hands turned comfortably cold as Solas clasped Vena’s between his own.  She gasped in surprise, then whimpered as the chill infused the mark in a way the snow never had.  He held her for several minutes as the excess heat seeped from her skin.  “Better?”

“Much.  Thank you.”

“Perhaps we should return then, so you can rest and recover.  I’ll be sure to put this spell on your list so you can do it yourself – once you get that far.”

The two walked back to New Haven in amenable silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emma him banal: I have become nothing.  
> Ir banalin: Inside, I am nothing.  
> Vhenbanal: I belong to nothing/no one.  
> Ir abelas, da’len/hahren: I’m sorry, child/elder  
> Ma isala’din u: You needn’t be alone.  
> 


	4. Training

When Solas described how the lessons of the next two weeks were progressing to the others, he was being kind when he said ‘slowly.’  The truth verged more along ‘non-existent’.  The problem wasn’t that Vena was a bad student – it was that she was atrocious.  Everything he attempted to teach either fell on deaf ears or demanded an explanation, which was then either rejected out of hand or that required further proof and so on until the original point had been lost entirely.  Every moment was a struggle of wills, an argument that she demanded he win before she would accept anything Solas had to offer.  He had yet to do so, and was beginning to despair that it would never be.

“Why can you not simply accept that it is so?!” Solas asked heatedly.

“Because there is no reason for it to be such, beyond you saying that it is!  You offer nothing beyond your own opinion!” Vena fired back, eyes blazing.

He threw his hands in the air.  “And yours is so much better?  I swear you would fight me on the point if I told you the sky was blue and fire was hot!  My reasoning is sound.  My logic is steeped in years of evidence and the memories of hundreds within the Fade.  This is how it was, da’len.  Your only proof is the superstitious nonsense the Dalish have filled your head with and your own shortsighted beliefs on matters which you know nothing about!”

Vena’s eyes widened then narrowed sharply.  “You know very little about me to be making such bold claims, hahren.  Are you not the one who told me that in the Fade everything you saw was true?”

“So you do listen.”

“And you don’t.”

“Tell me then,” Solas breathed, adopting an instructional stance, hands clasped behind his back, “what is it that I’m supposed to have heard and have not in these past days?”

“That your way of teaching isn’t working.”  Vena crossed her arms over her breasts.  “You standing there lecturing me on how the world ought to work, how it used to work?  It’s interesting, and maybe I even want to hear it, someday.  But someday isn’t now.”

“And what would you suggest?”

She sighed and rubbed her eyes with one hand.  “I don’t know.”

“Well, that is informative.”  Solas resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only barely.  An uncomfortable silence reigned over them.  Vena glared at the glowing mark on her hand that slashed violently along her Line of Head.  “How did you learn to shoot?” the elder elf finally asked.

“I… watched.  I spent hours studying the hunter’s techniques.  Not just how they shot, but how they moved through the woods.  How they made it a part of them.  Then I stole a bow.”  She chuckled to herself at the memory.  “I was so determined that I’d get it right on my own.  When I came back to camp that night my fingers were bloody and my entire forearm was purple.  Ashalle took one look at me and knew what I’d been up to.”

“Ashalle?”

“A friend of my parents.  The woman who took care of me as I grew up.  As much as anyone did.”  Vena shook her head.  “She marched me straight to Keeper Marethari and made me apologize for stealing the bow and got healed.  The next day Master Ilen gave me a bow and glove of my own, and told me the Ways.  They knew they’d never get me to go to classes like the rest of the clan, but they protected me as best they could.  I spent months chasing arrows and fennecs through the forest.”

Solas considered, tapping his chin with a forefinger.  “You watched.”  Vena nodded.  “Go get lunch.  We’ll try something new when you get back.”

Vena returned an hour later, surprised to see Cullen standing in the clearing with Solas.  Solas was holding two large wooden staves; nothing more than sticks of wood.  There was also a wooden crate.  “A new tactic is required.  You say my lecturing is useless and that you learn by watching.  Very well.”  The elf motioned to the crate.  “That is for you to sit on while you observe.  Commander Cullen has been kind enough to be willing to assist in this matter.”  He turned to Cullen with a small nod of his head and tossed him one of the staves before taking an open but aggressive stance.  Cullen adopted a more defensive posture, holding the stave in front of him.

A beat of quiet, and by some mutual consent they began.  The clack of the two staves hitting each other almost rhythmically was deafening in the quiet of the clearing.  And Vena watched.  Her eyes traversed the planes of the men’s bodies, where their hands rested on the staff and when they moved, when and how their footwork shifted and changed.  She watched as both began to work up a thin sheen of sweat and they paused by mutual consent to discard their outer layers of clothing.  The tempo of the dance picked up as testosterone was inflamed and the men challenged each other, and still Vena watched.  Both men began to grin under the exertion; Cullen’s joyful while Solas’ was calculating.  The speed rose again and Vena could no longer follow the individual movements – the point of the exercise forgotten in the growing male pride.  She grinned to herself and gathered a large fistful of snow, lobbing it at the Commander.  It missed its mark and was broken by someone’s staff, spattering both with a sudden burst of tiny ice crystals, bringing the ‘demonstration’ to a sudden halt.  Vena burst into laughter at the twin shocked looks on their faces.

“What was that?!” Solas sputtered at the same time Cullen protested “Hey!”

“You two went into overload there, and I couldn’t follow anymore.  Besides which I have two questions, oh hahren.  First, what does swinging a big stick around have to do with magic, and second, what’s the difference between a giant stick and my bow?”

Solas leaned casually on his staff, his shirt sticking to his chest.  “This ‘big stick’ as you call it, is a substitute for a mage’s staff.  A staff is a unique weapon and you need to know how to wield it properly.  I could give you a lecture on it, but that wouldn’t interest you I’m sure.  Which answers both of your questions.”

“The lecture, then.  I need to know, so you may as well.  I just don’t need the whole history.”

“Very well.  A warrior might choose to use a blunt weapon or a long blade.  Either might be wielded two-handed or with a shield.  Someone in Leliana’s position might find short blades better suited to their work either for close combat or at range –– a bow of course works just as well for ranged fighting.  A mage’s primary attack is, of course, magic.  Magic is a unique attack.  On the offensive, magic is a long ranged assault - you hurl bolts of elemental energy at your opponent.  On the defensively, it is a shield, surrounding you and keeping you safe from physical attacks.  And while it isn’t necessary, a staff is used to focus that energy, directing the forces to your will far more ably that you might on your own.  Further, it doubles as a melee weapon when necessary.  On one end is a focus that can often be used similarly to a club.  The other end is oft times a blade of some type – depending on the mage’s fighting preferences.  Either can be deadly if one knows how to wield it properly.”

Vena looked doubtful.  “Why would a mage ever need that?”

It was Cullen who answered.  “Any number of reasons.  An opponent who slipped in too close to you before you could erect your shield.  You’re exhausted from the fight and drained.  Or the obvious – a Templar who silenced or smote you making it impossible to cast.”

“Who did what, now?”

The two men shared a look that Vena didn’t understand.  Cullen pointed at her and suddenly she was flattened; she was looking up at the Breach-scar, the world spinning and quiet.  Vena opened her mouth to speak, but no sound seemed to come.  Solas came into view, his mouth moving, but utterly silent.  The elf frowned and looked up, presumably at Cullen, and seemed to ask something, before turning back to Vena, worry in his eyes.  She’d never noticed before that their color shifted depending on the light – one moment a steel blue, the next as dark grey as a thundercloud.  Her hand began to heat again as pain flared through her.  Solas stood to discuss something with Cullen, leaving her in the snow, but no sound had returned.  Vena tried to roll over to all fours, but the world seemed to slither away from her, making her stomach lurch dangerously.  The two men were waving their hands animatedly – yelling?  Her hand was getting worse – the heat was beginning to melt the snow around it.  She tried to say something – anything – but had no idea if she succeeded.  Clearly neither Solas nor Cullen heard her in the depths of their argument.  The mark flared violently, green sparks flying, and Vena collapsed, unconscious once more.

Vena’s eyes cracked open to morning sunlight and the interior of her ‘home’ in New Haven.  She sat up only to find herself nearly naked under the covers.  A soft cough alerted her of Solas’ presence and her eyes grew wide as she quickly drew the covers back up to cover herself.

“Welcome back.  I was beginning to wonder if you would ever return to us,” Solas remarked with a soft smile.

“What happened to me?  What did Cullen do?”

“The Commander silenced you.  An extremely weak version of it.  Neither of us expected it to affect you so drastically.  We should no doubt do it again to prepare you for the possibility of it happening in battle, but perhaps it should wait until you have more control of your powers first.”

“That was… was the mark a part of that or separate?” Vena asked, concerned.

“We don’t know.  All the more reason for you to have as much control as possible.  I apologize for your state of undress.  Your fever was… quite bad.”

The huntress frowned, annoyed.  “What I need to control is this mark, not my so-called powers.”

“In time.  Right now, however, you need to rest,” Solas laid a gentle hand on her shoulder and pushed her flat.  “I imagine you aren’t used to inaction.  Perhaps a lecture?”  The curl of his lips betrayed his teasing.

“If you’d like,” Vena nodded, settling herself on her pillows.  “Or anything that suits your fancy.”

“Hmm.  You made the point that I know very little about you.  Perhaps you should rectify that?”

“What do you want to know?”

“The usual questions are a good start.  You keep saying we can call you Vena.  That implies it isn’t your true name, but a nickname.  We believed you to be from Clan Lavellan, but obviously you’re not, so what is?  Where did you call home?  Do you have family?  I’m familiar with the meanings behind the vallaslin, but yours are unique.”

“You want my backstory?” Vena laughed, amused.  “My name is completely mangled by non-elven speakers, so it’s easier to just say ‘Vena’-”

“You forget that I do speak elven,” Solas interrupted.

“-and those that do,” Vena continued with a raised eyebrow, “usually take it… poorly.”  She paused, her fade-touched eyes refusing to meet his face.  “It’s Vhenarellan.”

Solas choked, blue-grey eyes bulging.  “’She who belongs to the Dreaded One’?  Why on earth would your parents name you that?!”

Vena sighed, clearly expecting the reaction.  Her voice was dull and monotone.  “My clan was the Sabrae.  We mostly lived in the Brecillian Forest, but apparently they moved to the Free Marches right after I was recruited for the Wardens because of the Blight.  I was taken in by them.  I was found under an old statue of Fen’Harel by the woman who became my mother and they adopted me – so it was just me, no siblings that I know of.  When I was six my father was killed by humans and my mother vanished.  Ashalle looked after me as much as she could after that.  You already know how I trained to be a hunter.  I was eighteen when I got my vallaslin.  The plan was for me to be marked for Andruil like most hunters.  Instead I ended up with this.  No one knew why – not even Keeper Marethari, and she did it.  No one knew what it meant.  Just another way set me apart from the clan.  Another way for me to be different.”  Her voice had grown bitter.  “Another way for me to be alone.  Any other questions about my not-so-mysterious past?”

“You must have had friends,” Solas prompted quietly.

“I did.  They were called trees and rocks and my bow and silence.  Sabrae tolerated me.  Barely.  They would have been pleased if I’d developed magical talent.  I would have been the fourth.”  She shrugged, the pain old and familiar.

“I see.  I didn’t mean to cause pain.  I apologize.”  Solas stood.  “I should let you rest.  We’ll start again tomorrow.  Without Templar interference this time, I think.”

Vena grunted in answer, her mind elsewhere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Line of Head” refers to palm reading - usage based on my headcanon that the Dalish are similar in many respects to the Romani people (specifically the Kale: Welsh-Romani)


	5. Instinct

The following days were spent purely on Vena’s staff work. She was a good mimic, and it didn’t take long before she had the essential moves down. Getting from one to the next was a matter of practice and muscle memory, which was what Vena and Solas engaged in. Solas tried a few times to get Vena to draw upon her powers as a mage but they all ended in complete failure or utter disaster – although the explosion had created a larger clearing for them. After than he had let it be. His eyebrows had _almost_ grown back.

They did not touch on the topic of her past again, but it had clearly drawn a divide between them. When she was asked in to speak with the others, there was an awkwardness that seemed insurmountable. Cullen was clearly embarrassed by what had happened over the ‘silent’ incident, Leliana kept her distance from the woman who had somehow died in the Blight only to return, and Cassandra wavered between disgust and adoration for the woman now called ‘Herald of Andraste’ by the masses of New Haven.

“Tell me,” Cassandra asked Vena one day as she was practicing against a dummy. “You said you do not believe you are chosen. Does that also mean you do not believe in the Maker?”

“I’m Dalish. I follow the Elven God,” Vena replied.

Cassandra paused her hacking to glare at the elf. “And there isn’t room your Elven pantheon for one more?”

Vena frowned crossing her arms over her chest. “Isn’t there room next to your Maker’s throne?”

“Of course not! That is preposterous” Cassandra instantly retorted. “‘As there is but one world, one life, one death, there is but one god, and He is our Maker’,” she quoted.

“But it’s so easy to just make room for gods that don’t have anything to do with what you believe, Seeker. If we elves can do it, surely you can too!” Vena replied hotly. “Or is it that we are simple savages? What’s one more god, never mind the thousand years of traditions to be upheld?”

“I- perhaps I spoke out of turn.”

“Perhaps you did.” She left, heading for the clearing.

The wind ruffled her hair as Vena closed her eyes to her surroundings and just breathed, taking in the sounds of the forest. There was the soft bleat of a ram. There was a druffalo grunting. There was snow dropping from a branch of a tree to the ground. There was the hiss of a demon.

Vena’s eyes snapped open. She spun to face her enemy, knowing she was alone and found a rage demon closing on her fast, a trail of steam in its wake, one clawed maw already raised to strike. Instinctively she _pushed_ and found the demon’s rake had missed by a scant inch, her body covered in a soft green glow. Vena’s mind went to frost as she thrust out a hand at the demon and the creature was enveloped in a thin layer of ice. Thoughts of killing the monster were translated to an arc of lightning. A stray notion of ‘get away!’ resulted in the demon being blown backwards several feet and hissing away to nothing. Vena bolted backwards. Magic. _She_ had done magic. There was no one else around to explain what had happened. No one else to blame it on. She needed Solas. Vena tore through New Haven towards Solas’ home, causing more than one person to half draw their weapons in anticipation of what was obviously chasing her. He was standing outside contemplating the Breach when Vena nearly bowled him over in her haste.

“Solas!” She cried. “I- there was- and then I-“

“One sentence at a time, da’len.” Solas replied archly.

“In the clearing,” Vena panted as she righted herself, “there was a demon. I killed it. With magic.”

“I see. And how did you manage that? Do you remember?” He was suddenly incredibly very intent on her, watching Vena’s every movement for answers. She told him, as best she could remember. “Fascinating. It would seem that your use of magic is more instinctual that I first believed, which would explain the difficultly in our training up to this point. This is actually quite the breakthrough, however. I believe I can work with this if I change my techniques accordingly.” He smiled encouragingly.

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Training did indeed go faster after that, with Solas aiming on honing her instincts, rather than a more studious approach. It meant that she didn’t focus on any one element or area, but instead dabbled and reached for what the situation seemed to call for, but it worked. Once Solas had focused Vena’s powers she was considerably less unpredictable. Her spells were simple but she was able to cast over and over again with almost no time in between. Vena’s staff work improved as well, but at a much slower pace, now that she was able to actually cast spells at the same time. Unlike most, she held her staff in her right hand and cast with her left, the mark still interfering with her ability to grip anything tightly for any length of time. The mark lent most of Vena’s spells an odd coloration and a strange warm buzzing feeling if she was casting a friendly spell such as a barrier on another person, but otherwise seemed to have no ill effects on the castee. After another week and a half, Solas declared her able enough to try her magic outside of the training grounds.

“Good. We need to discuss what happens next,” Cassandra nodded tightly at the news. “The simple truth is that we succeeded only in slowing the Breach, not sealing it. We must try again.”

“For that to have any chance of success, the mark requires more power than it currently has,” Solas offered.

“Oh yes,” Vena rolled her eyes. “Let’s take something we barely understand and power it up. That’s surely to not end in disaster.” The three entered the meeting room where Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine were waiting for them. A large map of Thedas had been rolled out on the table.

“There are two choices, really. The mages of the rebellion or the Templar’s who’ve left the side of the Chantry,” Cassandra supplied.

Leliana spoke next. “If it is more magical power we need, then we must approach the mages. They are led by former Grand Enchanter Fiona, and are currently holed up within Redcliffe at the invitation of King Alistair.”

Vena snickered, gaining a few odd looks. “Sorry, that just still sounds weird to me. ‘King’ Alistair. That man couldn’t find his pants in the morning without help.”

“I still say the mages are unnecessary!” Cullen complained. “What we need are Templars. They could suppress the power coming from the Breach, allowing Vena to close it far more easily.”

“We don’t know that for certain-” Leliana argued.

“I do. I was one, you might recall.”

“-and in any case, we have no idea where to find them, or Lord Seeker Lucius who leads them,” the bard finished over-top of him.

“It is all a moot point at the moment,” Josephine interrupted as politely as she could. “What we are, to anyone looking, is a very small, very weak group that the Chantry has proclaimed heretical. We are led by someone who is calling herself the ‘Herald of Andraste’ – a heretic in her own right, and that someone is still wanted by the Chantry for the death of the Divine. We are harboring not only a heretic but also a fugitive. We have neither the standing nor the influence to approach either group at the moment. In order to do anything, we must grow. In size, in power, in influence and standing, and in the people we call allies.”

“If that is true, then I know the place to begin: the Hinterlands. There is a woman there, Revered Mother Giselle. My people tell me she’s interested in meeting with the Herald. She was on her way here, but has been held up at the Crossroads where the fighting between mages and Templars is the heaviest. Because of that, there may be additional ways you can stretch our touch, if you look.”

“Okay, I get meeting this Mother of yours – assuming it isn’t a trap from the Chantry – but why can’t your people help too? I mean, it’s going to be little stuff like getting blankets and finding elfroot for healing, right?”

“Most likely, yes. And our people can no doubt quietly gather what you need, but if you’re the one delivering it you become the savior they seek,” Cullen supplied.

“A lie.” The disgust in Vena’s voice was clear. “Fine. When do we head out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I the only one who was seriously offended by Cassandra’s off-handed remark and that you _couldn’t respond_ to it? It drives me nuts. Sorry Cass, I like you, but that was just **rude**.  
>  Also, I know it seems like I'm going a bit ‘special snowflake’ with Vena, but for what it’s worth, I had the idea of her vallaslin and background being wonky before DAI came out. It just fit so well that I had to bring her in as the Quizzy. I’m trying really hard not to go there, but feel free to smack me if I start too hard down than landslide. I actually _do_ have reasons for some of the stuff going on with her (like why she has magic now), but by all means question it! Please?! I don’t want plot holes if I can help it, so questioning things will help, and anyway comments are love.


	6. Fever Dream

“Scout Lace Harding, at your service, Your Worship,” said the dwarf as Vena, Cassandra, Varric, and Solas walked up to the Inquisition’s campsite a couple of days later. Surprised, Vena recognized the woman as the scout she’d saved from the rift in the mountains. “There’s a lot of fighting; the main group of rebel mages are holed up in Redcliffe, but there are plenty who’ve decided to strike out on their own, there’s a lot of rogue Templars who’ve decided that the only good magic is magic not being cast so anything that remotely frightens them gets killed – even if it’s just people, and there’s a bunch of regular folks who’ve decided to take advantage of the chaos and have turned to banditry. We’ve made contact with Mother Giselle. She’s at the Crossroads still, but refuses to go anywhere as long as her healing and prayers can be of use. We haven’t spotted any kind of trap though.”

Vena pressed forefinger and thumb into her eyes. “It’s just like the Blight. There’s always another hurdle. Except that I’m not Andra.” She looked at Harding, with a half-smile. “I had your job.”

“I- er- as you say, Your Worship,” Lace stammered. “If you get a chance, you could check on Horse-master Dennet, too. He breeds the best horses around. They’d be a great asset for the Inquisition if we could convince him to join us, but no one has heard from him since things started going crazy.”

“Call me Vena, please. I’ll do what I can. Let’s start with the Crossroads.”

“They aren’t far. Here’s a general map of the area.” Harding saluted and moved off.

She wasn’t lying either; the Inquisition camp was just up a hill and on an overlook from the Crossroads which was little more than a couple of fields and a small cluster of homes. The occupants of those homes were nowhere to be seen due to the scuffle between Inquisition scouts, Templars, and mages that had broken out right in the middle of it all.

“Hold! We are not apostates!” Cassandra called out.

“We are no Templars!” Solas yelled at the same time.

Neither group listened, as Varric helpfully pointed out, “I don’t think they care, guys…”

Vena reached for her bow but her fingers found only air, and it took several moments of confused thought before she remembered her magic. A Templar charged her and her barrier snapped into place as lightning electrified his metal armor. On his flank, Cassandra ran him through. She felt her barrier shatter as a bolt of fire splashed harmlessly across her back, and Vena turned to face her new opponent only to see him with several arrows sticking out of his chest. A glance to Solas saw him finishing off the last Templar with a whirl of his staff and a blast of icy air. The scouts immediately went to work, knocking on the doors and letting people know it was safe once more. They also erected a large sign stating that the area was now under Inquisition protection and pointed out Mother Giselle to her.

The woman would have been impossible to miss: bright red and clean white in a world of brown dirt and grey grime, a hat of epic proportions, and a heavy Orlesiean accent exceptionally out of place in the backwaters of Fereldan. “So, you are the Herald of Andraste.”

“Oh, for the love of- Really? I’m Dalish. DAY-LISH. And I have a name.”

“Many forget that Andraste walked with the elves as friends. There is no reason for Her not to choose an elf as her Herald if she found one so worthy.” Giselle considered. “So. You do not believe. But the mark exists, as do you. And I understand that you were in the Blight – one of our Heroes, thought to have died. Yet here you are, ten years later, seemingly untouched by time. How is this possible, if not by holy mandate?”

“Maybe it is,” Vena conceded. “Just not yours. You say I don’t believe, as if I have no faith at all. I do – it just isn’t in _your_ god. Regardless, I’m here. How can I or the Inquisition help you, Mother Giselle?”

“This is a matter of faith, child. And how the Chantry responds to you will shape the Chantry for generations in the future. Some seek political power, it’s true. Many of them, however, are not actively opposed against you – it is simply fear. Fear of you and what you represent. Fear of change. If you were to go to them, and show them that you are not a force to be feared…” Giselle let the thought trail off suggestively.

“You really think they’d reverse their stance on me and the Inquisition, just by talking to them?” Vena asked incredulously.

“Let me put it this way. You don’t need to convince them. You simply need to break their unified stance. Once you do, people will see that they are free to do as their hearts and consciousness’ demand. You will find allies much easier to gain. I can give Sister Nightingale a list of those who waver on the edge and would be willing to listen.”

“And what’s motivating you, Mother Giselle? Why would you turn your back on the Chantry’s decisions?”

The priestess shrugged eloquently. “The Divine is dead, as are almost all of the Grand Clerics that would have taken her place. The Chantry is leaderless. In such a time of strife, all one can do is look to the Chant and within for answers. I believe the Maker has set a hard course for you, but that yours is the correct one. That you are not a believer only makes my decision easier. The Inquisition will need someone to tend to the faithful who follow you. I can be that person.”

“Very well,” Vena sighed. “When you’re ready, tell one of our people. We’ll send a couple of our soldiers to escort you to Haven safely. Meanwhile…” she looked around at the refugees, “I apparently need to put in an appearance.”

Vena hadn’t been far off the mark with her snide comments – the refugees had fled their homes with little more than what was on their backs, leaving them cold, hurt, and hungry. In addition, the Mage-Templar war continued to rage all around them, making scavenging dangerous for anyone without a weapon. Fortunately, Leliana had made it clear that they were to avail themselves to the Herald – especially if it didn’t inconvenience their other duties. They had reports for Vena too – a cult had made their home in an abandoned tower called Winterwatch proclaiming the end times, there was some kind of villa that seemed to be occupied to the south-west, a Ferelden Frostback had taken up residence to the north-east, and of course, rifts were everywhere. Cassandra passed off what the refugees needed to the scouts.

“Our priority needs to be closing the rifts,” the stoic woman offered. “The demons that spew from them endanger everything nearby, even the local wildlife.”

Vena smirked at Varric who looked rather despondent at the news. “I hope you packed your comfortable boots.”

“I suppose it’s too much to ask for even terrain?” the dwarf asked hopefully. Cassandra laughed. “What? I’m more of a city-dweller!”

Vena collapsed into her tent, ignoring the fact that Varric was just beginning a tale and that dinner had yet to be served. The fire in her veins had set her blood boiling and there was no room for burning hunger, no desire for the heat of human contact, no need for warm conversation. She peeled off her clothes and tossed them in a pile, sweat shining on her skin but not helping cool her in the slightest. They had spent three days combing the Hinterlands for rifts and destroying whatever came out of them before Vena sucked their very essence into herself. Eleven of them in total, not that she’d been counting. In addition the small group had had to contend with the War, bandits, wolves, and bears. Vena had borne it all, ignoring the steady fever that grew within her as she collapsed each rift, but she couldn’t any longer and the pained crackling energy overtook her and sped her into the Fade.

_She walked alone among the trees, old and ancient as time itself. She could see, despite it being dark, and everything had an odd orange-red glow to it and pulsed like a heart-beat. Underneath all of it was a low hum – a song she almost remembered the words to, the melody half forgotten. As she passed the trees began to move, shifting behind her to block her passage, forcing her ever forwards. Towards what she didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she wanted to. In front of her a rift suddenly opened, and from it flew the Archdemon, screaming her death. She turned and ran, but she wasn’t fast enough. She couldn’t be. The air split open as the Archdemon let loose a stream of pure evil. Green energy crackled around her for a split second before she was engulfed in purple smoke and dust._

She woke. Screaming.

Within seconds the entire camp was in arms, looking for the attack. Cassandra, Varric, and Solas were in Vena’s tent in a flash, only to find her completely nude, eyes wide with whites showing all the way around and sweat raining from every pore.

“Vena are you-”

“What’s wrong! I-”

“Who is attacki-”

All three stared at their Herald who panted for breath as the song in her head momentarily swelled to a crescendo and blotted all else out. Vena’s hand sputtered angrily, sending green sparks in every direction. Solas snatched a nearby sheet and wrapped it over Vena before coaxing her to lie back on her bed once more.

“Shh. It will be alright. Tell me what happened, da’len.”

“Sorry…” Vena whispered hoarsely. “Warden dreams. Thought they’d be better with the Blight over.” She panted.

Solas frowned and cupped her cheek, pulling it back almost immediately. “You’re burning up, da’len! Is this from your hand? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“What, now?” Cassandra asked, concerned.

“Her mark,” Solas explained impatiently as he cupped the hand in question and began to cool it with his magic, “apparently creates heat when she closes rifts. It gets translated to her body as a fever. In small doses, with proper care, nothing comes of it. But apparently it has been building up as we’ve been closing them here and she hasn’t let me do anything about it for her. This is the result.”

“Great. Fever dreams plus Warden dreams means screaming like the bloody Archdemon itself is after you, apparently,” Varric grumbled.

“It was.” Vena hissed.

“What?”

“It was after me. In my dream, I mean. No. In real life too. That’s what killed me. I think. Unless-?”

“Hush, da’len,” Solas interrupted.

Varric shook his head. “Weird things happen to you, Vena.” With that, he excused himself. Cassandra followed suit, telling the camp to stand down.

“Did you eat anything this evening?” Solas asked softly.

“Too hot.”

“You need to drink something, at least. Where’s your canteen?” Vena pointed with her good hand and Solas helped her sit up to drink a few sips of water before taking her marked hand between his own again. Vena sighed and leaned into him, exhaustion in every line of her body. It didn’t take long for her to slip away again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I changed the race of scout in the mountains, because I head-canon that that scout and Harding were supposed to be the same person and Bioware forgot. Besides, rule of unnecessary characters, right? Right?
> 
> “I’m not Andra” is referring to Andra Cousland, _The_ Warden as far as Ferelden is concerned. All of them were recruited, all of them were women, and all but two died – or so the world thought. Vena makes three. Yay?


	7. The Not-Warden

Vena woke alone, the sheet tangled around her. She felt disgusting, the salt of her sweat having dried on her skin as she slept. She pulled on her clothing from the day before with a wrinkled nose and emerged into the bright sunlight. The others were already up and about, eating the last of their morning meals.

Solas looked up with a small smile. “I see you’re feeling better enough to join us?”

“Yes, thank you,” Vena nodded. “But what I really need is a bath.”

Varric chuckled and held his nose mockingly. “We can tell. After you eat we can head for Lake Luthias – it isn’t far from here.”

A quick meal and a short walk later, and the promised body of water was in sight, complete with a waterfall. Vena grinned happily as she unbound the leather thong from her hair and shook it free to spread across her back. She dove into the deepest part of the water, fully clothed. When she came up for air several seconds later, it was only to reveal her head. Seconds later her tunic and breeches floated up next to her. Varric coughed and sputtered, suddenly finding a reason to be elsewhere. Vena laughed – the first true laugh she’d expressed since awakening in Cassandra’s dungeon – full and throaty, her eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that suggested she didn’t laugh often. She dove again, this time straight down, her pert ass visible for a brief moment before lean legs kicked into the air and then disappeared fully under the water. She emerged again several feet away, just shy of the waterfall, a handful of sand in one palm. She perched on a rock and began to scrub at her body before looking up and realizing that Solas was still there, leaned comfortably against a nearby tree. A blush flushed across her cheeks and down her chest as she quickly sank back into the water.

“D-Do you plan on staring the whole time, hahren?” She called, mortification dripping from every word.

“Do you plan on dressing in wet clothes when you’re finished, da’len?” Solas called back with a chuckled. “I assumed you were going to hand them out to be hung up to dry, but if you’d prefer to show off…”

“O-oh. Of course.” A few strokes and she was close enough to the shore to toss the older elf her wet clothes, which he hung on a low branch.

A low but unfamiliar cry echoed across the lake. “Hold the line men! Let them come to me!”

It was followed by the familiar clash of metal on metal. The two elves changed a look before Solas tossed Vena’s clothing back to her and headed for the nearby bridges at a jog while Vena took a more direct route, swimming directly across the lake after she’d pulled her tunic over her head. A small hut lay on the other side which was currently the site of a war in miniature. On one side was a man with an impressive beard and three young men holding shields. On the other was a group of eight brigands. It was an easy decision. Solas froze one assailant solid just in time for a blow from the bearded man to connect, shattering the man into tiny bits of icy flesh. Vena rose from the lake, looking nothing so much like a water-nymph from tales of old, a barrage of lightning bouncing from one bandit to the next, leaving them smoking. The man made quick work of them.

“Good job, lads. Remember – you can choose who and what you want to be in this life. These men chose poorly. Go back to your families and make better choices.” The three men who were with him ran off, eyes wide. He turned to the two elves. “And who are you? Not that I’m not thankful for the help, but…” His eyes glanced first to Solas and then to Vena, sliding over her form more slowly, her wet tunic clinging to her every curve, just barely covering her hips, and hiding nothing.

“Vena and Solas,” she provided, motioning to the older man, “Agents of the Inquisition.”

“Blackwall of the Grey Wardens.”

Vena’s eyes narrowed slightly and came unfocused, so Solas stepped in. “What is a Grey Warden doing out here, may I ask?”

“Recruiting. As I was ordered,” Blackwall replied with a frown. “I-”

“When?” Vena interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“When did you join the Wardens? Are you from Orlais? Who’s your commander?”

Blackwall blinked. “Would the answers really mean anything to you, my lady?”

“You don’t…” Vena struggled for the words, “ _Feel_ like a Warden. But they wouldn’t send out someone raw to recruit. So who are you? Really?”

“Who are you to question if I’m actually a Grey Warden or not? How would you know what a Warden _feels_ like?” Blackwalls eyes blazed in anger. “I am everything I need to be to be a Grey Warden - I protect people. That’s all it is. A promise to protect those weaker than yourself.”

Vena’s laughter rang across the lake, but there was no humor in it. “Believe that if you wish, ser, but do not sully our name. You are no Grey Warden.”

“ **Our** name?” Blackwall hissed. “You’re a Warden?” The elf woman nodded silently, hair dripping. “And you’re with the Inquisition – the ones claiming they can fix the sky – as well?” Another nod. “Shit.” A beat of silence and then his blade was at her throat. “Will you leave me in peace, or must I kill you to keep your silence?”

The mark chose that moment to flare, green sparks flying. Vena hissed, but dared not move. Solas on the other hand, who had been forgotten during the entire exchange, moved to check the man at the base of his skull with his staff. The beard crumpled with a soft moan, the man following closely behind.

“That was unpleasant. You’d think he’d at least say thank you,” Solas griped as he stared at the body at his feet.

“He may not have, but I will. Thank you, Solas.” She knelt next to Blackwall, oblivious to the view she was providing the other elf. “What was he thinking, do you think, pretending to be a Warden?”

“I suspect it was just as he said – trying to protect those weaker than himself. A noble sentiment, in idea if not execution.”

Vena shivered, the air chilling her soaked frame. “We can’t just leave him here. Not if those bandits have any friends.”

“He shouldn’t be out for long. I’ll stay with him until then. You should finish and dry off before you freeze to death.”

“I-“ Vena stopped and snorted in disbelief. “My pants are on the other side of the lake. No chance of dry clothes for me.”

“I can’t help with the pants, but,” Solas smirked and reached into his pack, pulling out a spare tunic. “Would this help?”

“You’re a lifesaver!”

It took Vena longer to return than it might have because she was trying to keep her pants above the waterline. Oddly, Solas didn’t seem to mind the delay, but the younger elf didn’t question it as she thankfully took his extra shirt and slipped into the house to change. Solas’ shirt was too big, one shoulder revealed by the overlarge collar and her fingertips barely poking out from the long sleeves. Still, it was dry and warm, and Vena wasn’t going to complain. By the time she returned, her pelt-colored hair drying unevenly, Blackwall was coming around. Vena considered him.

“For whatever reason, you’ve decided to pretend to be a Grey Warden. What you really want is to help people. That’s fine, as far as it goes. The Inquisition wants to help people too. So here’s the deal. You join the Inquisition. You get to help people. You get to keep your secret – for now. I get to keep an eye on you. Maybe if you prove yourself to me, I’ll sponsor you to the real Wardens.”

“And if I say no?”

Vena’s hand flared again, and she shook it impatiently. “Do you intend to?”

“Not really. Just curious what you would do.”

“I’m not sure. Maybe ship you to the Wardens anyway. Let Mirun decide what to do with an impersonator.” She answered honestly.

“Good thing I’ve decided to join you then,” Blackwall smiled.

“We should head back – maybe the Triad has come up with something better to be doing than collecting plants.”

“The Tria- ah. You mean Leliana, Cullen, and Josephine. Yes,” Solas chuckled at the nickname. “Perhaps so. Not that collecting plants is without merit…”

Vena raised an eyebrow at the other elf as she headed back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever, Bioware! _My_ Inquisitor can swim. { ᷅ᴥ ᷄ }  
>  Head-cannon: Wardens can sense each other the same way they can sense the Taint because…Taint.  
> “Mirun” is Mirun Brosca, Warden-Commander of Ferelden, the other survivor from the Blight. She’s the one who went through ‘Awakening’, and is still in charge – no Weisshaupt for her. :-P


	8. Enemies and Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long.

As the small group neared New Haven they broke apart, each seeing to their own needs. Vena desperately wanted to seek the quiet of her own ‘home’, but she needed to report in and see if Mother Giselle had made it yet or not. A crowd was gathered at the doors of the Chantry muttering angrily.  
“The Divine’s death lies at the feet of a mage!”

“It was the Templars responsibility to protect her! If a rogue mage killed her it was because you people weren’t doing your job!”

  
Cullen pushed between the two factions. “Enough! We are all part of the Inquisition now. Act like it! Back to your duties, all of you!” He spotted Vena and grinned boyishly, rubbing the back of his neck, before turning to glare at someone dressed in Chantry robes. It took Vena several moments to recognize Chancellor Roderick.

  
“Commander! Everything okay, here?” She asked, her eyes flicking to the belligerent man.

 

“As fine as can be expected,” Cullen sighed. “The death of the Divine has re-sparked the Mage-Templar war… with interest.”

  
“Something not helped by the fact that her murderer is standing right here, and justice is being denied her rightful followers!”

  
Vena barely spared the man a glance. “What you know about reality wouldn’t fill a thimble, Roderick. I suspect that what you know about actual justice is a minuscule portion of that. Now be quiet; the adults are talking. Cullen, obviously I’m back, so when you have a minute, I assume you want to be a part of the brief/debriefing that’s about to happen. If not, well… don’t let the mob burn the place down until I get back okay? I’ve always wanted to be part of an angry mob.”

  
Cullen chuckled. “I’ll do what I can to have them wait for you.” Vena nodded and went inside. Behind her she could hear Roderick sputtering his outrage and snickered to herself. Josephine and Leliana waited patiently within the war room.

  
“Mother Giselle’s information is good – better yet, most of them are near Val Royeaux already. It would not be hard to gather them together.”

“To what purpose, Leliana? To unify them against us more than they already are?”

“No. To give us a chance to reach them. To allow us to be heard. Without the Templars, there is little they can physically do besides threaten Vena. And if she speaks well, perhaps, as Giselle suggested, we can break them. It would go a long way towards gaining allies.”

“It’s not like I’d be going alone anyway, right?” Vena asked as she stepped into both the room and the conversation. “I mean, Cassandra at least should come.”

“You would not be alone, no,” Leliana smiled.

“Maybe it would make them happy to hear that I don’t think I’m their Herald any more than they do?”

“No. They will assume false modesty on your part, I am sure,” Josephine cautioned.

“And I’m a heretic if I am. And a liar, but let’s ignore that for the moment. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t,” Vena sighed. “Speaking well isn’t my thing as it is. What exactly am I supposed to say to them?!”

“It would depend on many factors, most importantly what was being said against you. If you could refute what was being charged against you without bringing up the Herald issue…” Leliana offered.

“Ugh. I hate politics. And that was Dalish. Now we’re talking Chantry and Orlesian.” Vena shook her head in disgust. “Maybe someone will come up with something on the way. I need to see what armor Harritt has come up with for me, let the others know so they can re-supply and get ready. It's, what, two weeks to get out there?”

“About that, yes,” Leliana confirmed.

Vena waved to Giselle on her way out and sought Varric. “Comfy?”

“Don’t tell me we’re going somewhere again already! I barely got my boots off, and I think my feet just swelled up to twice their size. They aren’t going to go back on!” Varric whined good naturedly.

Vena chuckled. “Not yet, but we do have a destination - Val Royeaux. We can convince the triangle-heads that I’m not so bad.”

“Triangle-heads? You’re as bad about nick-names as I am, Herald!”

“Ugh. If you like nicknames that much, find one for me, Varric. Please. Anything but Herald or Worship. Vena. Elf. Dalish. Savage. Knife-Ear, even. I don’t care, but not that.”

“Wow. You… really don’t like being called that do you?”

“No. And the sooner I can convince everyone that the only thing I’m the herald of is ‘oh shit something bad is happening’ the better off we’ll all be.”

“Hmmmm,” Varric considered. “It isn’t very catchy though. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue. Elf is taken, by the way, so I can’t call you that.”

“Who-?“

“Fenris, from Kirkwall. He also goes by Broody.” He shrugged. “Ah well. It’ll come, I’m sure.”

“Fine. Vena, until then, okay?” she pleaded as she waved farewell, heading for Solas’ home. He was standing outside, gazing at the Breach. “Gaining any insight, hahren?” She asked.

“From this distance? Unlikely. Still, you never know.” The older elf turned his attention to the younger woman. “What can I do for you, da’len?”

“Is Blackwall settled?”

“For the moment. I believe he’s found an empty house next to the forge – no one else wanted it because of the noise.”

“Good. That should keep him out of trouble for the next month or so.”

Solas raised his eyebrows in question. “Do we have plans already?”

“Val Royeaux,” Vena nodded. “We’re going to take Mother Giselle’s advice and try to break up the Chantry, apparently.”

“You don’t sound pleased with the idea.”

Vena made a face. “I don’t sound convinced. So I’m a heretic; I’m Dalish and a bad Dalish at that, so I was a heretic anyway. What’s the point?”

“You have not considered beyond the question of Faith, then.” Solas said with a frown.

“What do you mean?”

“Walk with me.” Vena nodded and the two walked in silence until they were outside of the hustle of New Haven before Solas spoke again. “Right now all you see is a question of Faith. Your beliefs – whatever they may be – against those of the Chantry and its followers. I believe it is both far less and far more than that. Whatever power may or may not have put you in the right-or-wrong place at the right-or-wrong time, the Breach happened because of something someone did, not Divine intervention. We saw that at the Temple. Fixing the Breach – sealing it for good, will require the work of those here in Thedas; not the intervention of god-like beings.”

Vena considered. “You sound like you don’t believe anything at all, Solas.”

“What I do or do not believe concerning life beyond this one is of little consequence. What does matter is that I have come to believe in you. You have an indomitable focus that has allowed you to train yourself to flick an arrow or dagger directly to its target, and with my help, to control your newfound magical talent as well. The grace in which you move is evidence of that.”

“So you’re suggesting that I’m graceful?” Vena blinked.

Solas’ lips twitched. “No, I am declaring it. It was not a subject for debate.”

“I see. And…indomitable focus?”

“Presumably. I have yet to see it dominated. I imagine that the sight would be…” his voice dropped to something more intimate, “fascinating.”

Vena felt her cheeks heat and turned away. “I should find Cassandra and let her know as well.”

Val Royeaux, Vena decided, was like an over-ripe plum. Gorgeous to look at with its blues and whites and golds, and even smelled delicious, as long as you didn’t poke at it too much or go looking beneath the surface.

“The Maker would not send us an elf in our hour of need!” cried a Chantry woman on a platform, pointing directly at Vena.

“Oh, by the-! Look, I’ve never claimed to be your ‘Herald’! I’m just someone who can help. That’s all!”

“We shall let the Templars decide the truth!” The Mother pointed to where several men in armor advanced on the platform.

“Lord Seeker Lucius?” Cassandra whispered at her side.

“We are not here for you,” the man in charge said to the Mother as another sent a left hook at her, toppling her to the ground. Lucius’ eyes scanned the crowd, lighting on Vena for a moment before he snorted disgustedly and walked away.

“Lord Seeker?!” Cassandra called louder.

“You will not address me.” His eyes remained on Vena.

“Lord Seeker Lucius! What is the meaning of this?”

“I came to see what this Inquisition had to offer. And to laugh.” He strode up to Vena, leaning over to get into her face, trailing a finger under her chin. Vena did everything she could not to flinch. “Ha. Your pitiful group will not solve this problem – you will not fix this. We will.” He turned abruptly. “Templars, with me. We leave Val Royeaux to rot.”

Vena let out an explosive breath once she was sure she was staring at their backs. “Well. We won’t be getting any help from that quarter.”

“Don’t discount them yet. He was too close so you may not have seen it, but I suspect a lot of the Templars seemed uncomfortable with what Lucius was doing. We may yet be able to garner their support,” Cassandra cautioned.

“Someone wants to speak to you…” Varric said quietly, nodding to an arrow in the ground near them with a red ribbon tied to it.

“You do seem popular,” Solas added as an older elf woman walked up to them.

“Agents of the Inquisition?” the woman asked in an Orlesian accent. She was small, and obviously a city elf – no vallaslin marred her skin. Her dark hair was beginning to salt and pepper at the edges. “I am Grand Enchanter Fiona. The Mages of the Rebellion would welcome you to Redcliffe to speak about an alliance. Surely we can be of more assistance than those thugs calling themselves Templars? We are both mages after all.”

“Trust me, I’m nothing like you,” Vena shook her head.

“Do not discard what I offer so quickly! Just… consider it.” She bowed politely and left.

Not two seconds later another messenger arrived, letter in hand. Solas took it, reading quickly. “It seems the Herald of Andraste has been extended an invitation to a small gathering of Madame Vivienne.”

The Seeker considered. “I would recommend going – snubbing the Court Enchantress is never a good idea. However, be aware that she no doubt wants something. Be cautious.”  
“Always good advice when dealing with Orlesians,” Varric muttered.

“Her villa is on the way back to Haven, if we are done here?” Cassandra asked.

“Not quite.” Vena motioned to the red ribbon.

The ribbon held a note that led them on a chase which eventually lead them to a small manor just outside the city. Some noble (Vena never did get his name) made a poor assassination attempt on the group before an elf woman shot an arrow in his face. The woman introduced herself as Sera of the Red Jennies. She attached herself to the group as they set out for the home of the Court Enchantress. Of course, some nobleman or another tried to use her for his own purposes, but an elegant woman dressed in silver and white quickly put an end to him before introducing herself as First Enchanter Vivienne, leader of the Loyal Mages. She too was interested in joining the Inquisition, as it turned out, and so after spending the night, the group was once again on the road for New Haven.

“We must decide soon! I still say that the mages are our best bet against the Breach!” Leliana argued inside the renovated war room.

“And I still maintain that they are not! In addition to suppressing the magic that is leaking from it, the Templars can handle anything that comes out of the Breach far better that the mages ever could!” Cullen answered with a roar.

“Whatever we decide it must be soon! Standing here arguing does nothing but allow our enemies – whoever they are – to become more firmly entrenched to threaten us!” Josephine’s voice cracked across the room.

Vena sat in a corner, the heels of her hands pressed firmly into her eyeballs in a futile effort to ward off the migraine that loomed over her. Her hand sparked warningly.

“Enough!” All eyes turned to the small elf woman. “This is getting us nowhere. Is there any reason we can’t seek out both parties? Beyond the Mage-Templar war, I mean.”

Leliana frowned. “Clearly you have something in mind, Vena. Please elaborate.”

“The way I see it, we need my mark to have more…oomph, magically speaking. That would, presumably—come from mages.”

“Exactly my point!”

“But,” Vena glared at the red-head, “The Breach is really big, and really high up. A freaking Pride demon came through it last time and we barely held it off. More ‘oomph’ presumably means bigger and badder things. Any help we can get to dampen that down and contain it would be good. I’m only a Dalish elf, and barely a mage, but I’m pretty sure that’s the definition of what a Templar is supposed to do.”

Cullen nodded, “Precisely!”

“So why not have both, if we can? They’ve got to see that the Breach is the biggest threat, right? And they can go back to killing each other once it’s taken care of? And the worst that happens is that someone says no.”

The Triad looked to each other with a shared shrug, and set about their tasks to make the suggestion happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies to everyone for the delay. I made a horrible mistake and needed to recover from it. Pro tip: Not talking to Solas after the second kiss in order to avoid the break-up scene makes the end INFINITELY WORSE. I kind of crawled into a hole and died and my muse left me as punishment. I’m getting better.
> 
> Meanwhile, who can resist putting those lines from Solas in…seriously? Also, yes I do like having my cake and eating it too. I mean, who has a piece of cake and doesn't eat it?


	9. Time and Tide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Long chapter is long!

Vena’s armor was finally ready. It somehow managed to split the difference between standard archer armor and traditional mage robes. Her left shoulder bore a light but hard fennec leather pauldron that wrapped around to protect her breast and merged into a half plackart that protected that side as well. She was given an archer’s vambrace and gloves as well. The right half was made of lambswool, pulled tightly to her body with a hood for her head and the tasset’s trailing to her mid-thigh. Matching lambswool breaches were shaped to her legs until more fennec leather wrapped around her calves acting as greaves and shoes both – providing protection, but giving her more movement and sensitivity than she might have in regular boots, a decent compromise. The whole thing was dyed in dark greens and blacks, which made the bright yellow-green of her mark and her eyes stand out all the more.

Solas presented her with a mages staff. It was beautifully wrought, made of a metal that couldn’t quite decide if it was green or black. The grip had been given a bark-like texture that spread into delicate but wickedly sharp curves. Nestled within was a perfectly round crystal that hummed with magic. The other side was a simple end cap, blunt and good as a walking stick. Vena smiled from ear to ear as she took it.

“It’s beautiful! Is it really for me?”

Solas nodded. “It seemed an appropriate moment. The crystal can be changed out as you find your magical preferences, as can the end cap.”

“Thank you!”

“I hope you’ll be taking me when you speak to the mages of Redcliffe?”

Vena snickered. “As if I’d be allowed not to! Cullen and Cassandra still don’t trust me as a mage on my own – not that I blame them.” She missed the brief hurt look that flashed across the other elf’s face as she continued, “But I was thinking of bringing Blackwall and Sera along instead of Cassandra and Varric. I want to see what Sera’s capable of and Varric deserves a rest. Leliana is sending her agents in secretly to keep an eye on things in the castle but we’ll be alone for the most part. Cullen and Josephine are sending out feelers for the Templars in the meantime.”

“I’ll just get my things then.”

The next eight days were filled with tension. The usual tension of strangers travelling together, but also that of a secret not being discussed, and a growing issue between Sera and Solas as the two discovered just how different they were.

“What color is the sky, Sera?” Solas asked once, attempting again to initiate a conversation with the city elf.

Sera rolled her eyes. “Hang off.”

“It is an earnest question. What color is the sky when you look at it?”

“You know. Blue, mostly. Except for the Breachy bits,” Sera conceded.

Solas smirked and prodded a bit more. “And when you looked past the Breach? As perhaps you were drawn to do?”

“Greenish? Then clear a long ways, and kind of... felt like falling.” She shook her head. “Ugh! Makes my head hurt. You make my head hurt.”

“We are not so far apart, you and I.”

“We will be,” Sera growled before running several paces ahead of the others.

“What was that about?” Vena asked Solas.

“She is the farthest from what she should be, and yet…” he shrugged. “It doesn’t matter I suppose. I was simply trying to understand her better.”

The gates to Redcliffe were blocked by a rift that spewed demons of rage and hate. Vena ran forward, new staff in hand, and prepared to cast an ice spell when she realized she’d already cast it and several others like it. Glancing back, the others hadn’t even moved. She blinked. When her eyes opened there were several demons surrounding her, and none of her companions were where they had been just a moment before. Blackwall’s sword was flying faster than she could follow it, Sera’s hand was a blur as arrows flew towards their intended targets. Solas was also in a different spot but he was not moving at high speed – instead he seemed to be a statue, posed in the most dramatic way possible as a spell just began to leave his fingers. Another moment passed, and a blast of energy radiated from her, pushing the demons away. Sera and Blackwall slowed to mortal speeds and Solas speed up to meet them, unleashing his spell and freezing one in place as Blackwall’s shield hit home.

“What’s going on?” Vena cried out just before the air around her congealed again. She could only watch as Solas suddenly cast multiple bolts of magical energy which was matched by Sera’s arrows while she and Blackwall looked on. The next moment their positions were reversed, and it was Vena and Blackwall on the over-fast offense. At last the group was defeated and Vena braced herself.

“Nice one!” Blackwall praised.

“Remember to breathe,” Solas reminded her softly as Vena raised the mark towards the rift.

She pulled and felt the energy of the rift sizzle into her very being. She took a breath and kept pulling. She breathed out. The heat was being to actively burn, and Vena tried to blink away the unwanted tears as she glanced to Solas for support. He wasn’t there. None of them were. A glance confirmed that the rest of the group was already moving for the entrance, their movements strangely gaited. She had slowed again, while doing _this_. The pull, and therefore the burn kept going – she was locked in until time restarted itself. Vena could feel the skin crisping and drew a breath to scream. It was then that she was released, the rift collapsed, and Vena with it.

“Aughhhsssshhhhhhiittttt!!!!” She cradled her hand to her.

The others turned back to watch her fall. Solas sprinted to her side – the other two moments behind her.

“Vena?” He asked, tentatively reaching for her hand to assess the damage. A third degree burn, skin blackened with blisters along the edges of the mark made the glow that much more surreal. He fished an elfroot potion out of his pack and poured some on Vena’s hand, the rest down her throat, before icing the whole thing.

“I-FFFHT!-slowed again.” Vena hissed as the potion found raw nerves. “Didn’t mesh well with closing the rift. What was that?”

“I confess, I’ve never seen anything like it before. I recommend proceeding with caution.”

Blackwall returned. “Leliana’s people say that no one inside is expecting us, despite your invitation.”

“This is just getting stranger and stranger,” Vena frowned as she stood, the potion having done it’s job.

“Be careful, yah? Can’t go losing the glowy one.”

They were lead to The Grey Warden’s Rest where Fiona waited.

“I greet you, members of the Inquisition.”

Vena raised an eyebrow at Solas who shrugged, before looking back to Fiona. “And we you, Grand Enchanter Fiona. I must thank you for your kind invitation here.”

“My what?”

“Your invitation…at Val Royeaux?” Solas supplied.

“I have not been to Val Royeaux since before the Conclave was called! But…oh…I feel strange…no matter…I am no longer in a position to negotiation such things with you,” Fiona looked as confused as they all felt.

“Then who is?” Vena asked.

“That would be me,” answered a male voice. Vena turned to see an older man dressed in strange robes that seemed to be trying to mimic her own elven ears with cloth. “Magister Gereon Alexius of Tevinter at your service, Inquisition.” He motioned behind him. “My son, Felix.”

Vena whirled on Fiona. “You’ve allied the rebel mages with Tevinter?!”

“I understand desperation, but surely there were better choices than slavery!” Solas agreed angrily.

“Do not judge what you do not understand!” Fiona defended herself.

“Besides,” Alexius interrupted, “Indentured servitude is hardly slavery. Shall we speak?” He motioned to a chair and Vena sat. “I understand your people, and you in particular are trying to close the Breach? Good for you! But I suspect it will take a bit more manpower than you have, yes?”

Vena saw no reason to deny it. “Yes. Which is why we’ve come to the Mage Rebellion, which apparently means you – since you now hold their leashes.”

Alexius chuckled at that. “Indeed. Once they’ve proven themselves to be reliable citizens of the Empire they will join its ranks. It is standard for any mage wishing to join the Empire after all – not a special case for Ferelden.”

“And how long will it take them to ‘prove’ themselves?” Solas asked softly.

“Ten years.”

“By the F-!” Vena started then bit her curse back. “Well. As you have already pointed out, I need mages and you have them. Can we come to some arrangement?”

“I’m sure we can. Would you be willing to come to the castle to work out the details? It’s far more comfortable there.”

“Certainly.” The entire group stood, with Felix handing Vena her staff. “We’ll be along in a few minutes? Some other business in the village, you understand.”

“Of course.” The Tevinters and mages left, leaving Vena and her group alone in the tavern.

“Okay, that guy was creepy like whoa,” Sera started. “But you…what’s up, lady?”

“Felix passed me a note with my staff.” Vena read it aloud, “’Trap. You are in danger. Trust Dorian.’ Well, that’s helpful.”

“As if we couldn’ta figured that out for ourselfs,” Sera rolled her eyes.

“Should we go on, knowing this?” Blackwall wondered aloud.

“Definitely. If we don’t, it gives away whatever plan they’ve got cooking. Besides, we have Leliana’s agents, remember? Just need to signal them before we go in.”

They exited the tavern, and blinked in the sunlight while Vena looked around for the contact who had spoken with Blackwall before. A few words later and two ravens were taking flight; one winging towards New Haven, the other simply circling Redcliffe several times before settling on the battlements of the castle.

Alexius sat on the throne of Arl Eamon. _Arl Teagan_ Vena reminded herself. The Tevinter grinned sardonically at the Inquisition agents. Felix stood at his side. “So.”

“So.”

“What exactly does your Inquisition have to offer Tevinter in exchange for our mages services?”

Vena’s eyes narrowed as her elven ears picked up the strangled cry of one of his guardsmen. “Other than preventing the end of the world?”

Alexius waved a dismissive hand. “Other than preventing your part of the world from ending, wherein Tevinter would be left with all the mages necessary to deal with the Breach and no opposition.”

“And the distressing loss of this,” Vena flashed the mark at him, “which would make it all but impossible to do anything but wait and pray.”

“I suspect you and I pray to very different gods, my dear.” Alexius’ grin turned predatory.

“Of that, I have no doubt.”

“And who do you pray to any more, Father?” Felix interrupted. “What have those ‘Venatori’ done to you? Because it isn’t the Maker!”

“That,” Alexius pointed to the mark, “is a mistake. As are you. One I intend to fix.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Asked a cultured tenor.

“Dorian. I should have known you couldn’t stay away. It isn’t too late you know. The Elder One can still-“

“I’m really not interested in whatever your Venatori ideals are – and there was a time when you weren’t either.”

“Enough!” Alexius pulled forth some kind of amulet, pouring magic into it.

“No!” Dorian cried, running forward. A shot from Dorian’s staff disrupted whatever he was doing – but not in time.

Green light sparked and swirled around him and Vena, drawing them into it. The world stretched forwards and for a brief moment Vena saw the infinite possibilities that the future held.   The world stretched backwards and for one instant Vena understood everything that had brought the world to this state. With a snap they were released back into reality and the cold splash that accompanied it erased most of the understanding she had attained with it. Only one thing, one single piece of knowledge remained. She had made this journey before.

“Fenedhis! Fenedhis lasa! You Tevinter piece of _shit_!” With a surge of water Vena was at Dorian’s side in a second, hands scrabbling to strangle him. “Who are you? What did you do to me?! Where am I now? _When_ am I now?!”

The tanned man pushed her away. “Get off of me, knife-ear! What is your problem?”

Vena’s eyes narrowed. “You. Apparently, you are my problem. If He favors me at all, you are my solution as well.”

“How about you start from the beginning, rabbit,” Dorian arched a well-manicured eyebrow at her.

“How about you stop calling me names, _Vint_ ,” Vena retorted. “Alexius called you Dorian. I assume you’re the one I’m supposed to trust? Feh! Not as far as I can throw you. Answer my questions. Who are you? What did Alexius do to me? Where are we now?”

Dorian sketched a small bow, somehow managing to make it look elegant, despite their dank setting that was only just beginning to sink in. “I am, as you’ve surmised, Dorian Pavus. I take it Felix managed to get a note to you, not that it shouldn’t have been obvious. I’m Alexius’ former student. Heavy on the former – before you go trying to kill me again, if you please. The amulet,” Dorian sighed in disgust. “Is meant to allow for time-travel. Yes, it’s real. Yes, it works. I should know – I was the one developing it with Alexius.”

“I know,” Vena interrupted.

“Excuse me?”

“Not that **you** did it – but leave it to a Tevinter to come up with something awful like that – but the rest. I’ve done this before. It’s why I’m here. Not _here-here_ , but here at all. The Herald.”

Dorian frowned as he parsed out what Vena had just said. “What do you mean ‘you’ve done it before’?!”

Vena once again explained about being a Grey Warden in the Blight who ‘died’ in Denerim but in fact had been displaced in time by ten years and about 400 miles to the Conclave.

“Perhaps we opened a portal while we were perfecting it?” The Tevinter mage mused. “Regardless, I assume he meant to remove you from the timeline all together but my shot interrupted him, moving us through time and at least some distance. If the amulet is still around I might be able to reverse it.”

“Not far; I think we’re still in the castle – the dungeons.”

“It’s just a matter of finding out _when_ , then.”

Vena smirked. “So let’s go find out.”

The two exited the small room, climbing out of the cold water and gratefully to higher ground. The doorway out was studded in red lyrium that pulsated with heat, and the two carefully stepped around it. The next set of dungeons were populated by a single occupant: Blackwall. His eyes widened in panic as the false Grey-Warden took in the Herald and her companion.

“Get away from me. You’re dead! The only way you’re walking is by Taint!”

“Shh, Blackwall. It’s me. I’m alive, and as untainted as I’m likely to ever be.“

“No. We saw you get sucked into that….thing. Nothing left but a blood stain. You are DEAD”

Dorian rolled his eyes dramatically. “If there was nothing left but a blood stain, then how would she have a body to walk around in, now? Think man. That _thing_ as you so eloquently put it, spat us out here.”

“But- then-,” Blackwall sputtered. “All this suffering. All this pain. For what?”

“What do you mean?” Vena asked.

“The Elder One. He’s won. The Breach is everywhere now. And so is Varric’s red lyrium.”

“Well then. We just need to get back and fix this. Is Alexius still here? Does he still have the amulet?”

Blackwall nodded even as Vena bent to pick the lock. “I thought you were a mage. How do you know how to do that?”

Vena chuckled dryly. “I’m Marked, but I had a life before that. Shit!” Her hand flared and she dropped the pick.

“Allow me,” Dorian raised a skeptical eyebrow as he sent a tiny beam of heat into the lock, melting it. A moment later, Blackwall kicked the door open and stepped into freedom. He paused a moment, looking Vena over before pulling her into a tight embrace. Shocked, Vena didn’t resist.

“We lost you,” he whispered into her multicolored hair, “and with you, all hope.” Blackwall stepped back again, releasing the elf as suddenly as he’d hugged her.

Another prison set led them to Solas. His eyes burned the same red as the lyrium that grew from the walls like a fungus, and his face was somehow infinitely older. When he spoke it was broken, as if two or three people spoke with him.

“Is it really you?”

“It’s me, Solas. Time travel. We were never dead.”

“Ah. Then it’s possible to return you? To prevent any of this from happening?” Solas’s eyes flicked to the Tevene mage standing next to her.

“That’s the plan, yes. But we need to reach Alexius first, and get the amulet. With any luck it’s the same one.”

“I am glad you didn’t go far, da’len. All this death and destruction in a year. Imagine what you might have come to had you gone further in time.”

“Like _ten years_?” Vena muttered, glaring at Dorian from the corner of her eye.

“Shall we move on?” Blackwall asked as Dorian broke Solas free. “I heard they caught Leliana a couple days go. She should be around somewhere as well.”

Vena nodded, but a hand on her shoulder kept her back a pace. “Da’len, a word.” Vena turned to her mentor. “This place…it should not be. _We_ should not be. Not like this. When you- when we- I- thought you had died…” Solas’ voice grew rough, “I didn’t understand, until you were gone.”

“Didn’t understand what?”

Solas stared at her with an immense sadness overwhelming his red eyes. “Anything.” He strode to catch up to the others, leaving Vena blinking in confusion. By the time she pulled herself together and caught up, Blackwall was already slamming through another door. Within a familiar form hung limply from a pair of handcuffs. An unknown turned sharply at the unexpected intrusion.

“But perhaps you will,” came the throaty but still recognizable voice of the Orlesian bard as she heaved her body upwards to lock her legs around her torturer’s neck. With a sickening crack the man collapsed bonelessly. Solas sent a tendril of healing magic into the woman as Blackwall helped her down from her perch. “Its you. Good. You mean to fix this, yes?” Leliana picked a key off the dead man and let herself into a chest next to the door that contained her prized bow, a beautiful recurve that had yet to shoot off target. She also tore a seam in her cloak to reveal several papers, which she handed to Vena. “Give these to me. They are pieces of Alexius’ journal. No good to us now, but they might help you stop this from happening.”

“You…don’t care how we got here? No surprise that we’re alive?” Dorian wondered aloud, a whine tinging his tone.

“No. His journal answered much of that. As to the rest,” she shrugged, “It only matters that you are. We must hurry. The Elder One will have sensed you.” The red-head revealed several red chips from another pocket. “These will get us into Alexius. I was here trying to assassinate him when they caught me.”

The group ran. The main hall was filled with more spikes of red lyrium, Alexius’ men, half infected themselves, and a rift that seemed to pour endless demons who fought and killed indiscriminately. Once Alexius’ men realized that they weren’t reinforcements they turned on Vena and her group as well, adding more chaos to the already destroyed anti-chamber. Vena grit her teeth and pulled at the rift. Her surprise was immense then, when instead of blistering heat, her hand was suddenly covered in a thick layer of glacial ice. A glance and the reasoning was made clear – Solas – and she needed it. Time had intensified whatever effect the rifts had on her and the heat was melting the ice at an alarming rate leaving a puddle on the floor. It left her with the feeling of having just hit her elbow – nerves shooting pain up and down her arm, but a vast improvement over what would have no doubt been the charred skeletal remains of her hand. The rift exploded, not closed but momentarily sealed, severing the demon’s connection to the Fade leaving them reeling. The others – friend and foe alike – took advantage, a momentary understood truce while the various demons were dealt with. Another blast of ice from Solas allowed her to finish the rift off while Blackwall, with help from Dorian, vented a year’s worth of rage and frustration upon Alexius’ dupes. Coated in blood the group charged the door that separated them from Alexius. He stood alone in the throne room, head lowered in defeat.

“So. You’ve come at last. I knew you would – just not when. You are…my final failure.”

“Then let it end here, Alexius!” Dorian pleaded. “Let us go back and change things!”

“Change things? You think I haven’t tried? That is _exactly_ what I’ve been trying to do from the beginning! But it doesn’t work. Nothing works. I can’t change anything. The Elder One has won. He is more powerful than the Maker, and we are all doomed.”

Vena smiled but it was cold. “Good thing I don’t think much of the Maker then. Hand over the amulet. Now.” Movement caught her eye. In a flash Leliana appeared; her dagger at the throat of a ghoul.

“Give them the amulet or Felix dies!” the Orlesian cried.

“No! Anything! Let my boy go!”

Dorian’s eyes widened. “That’s Felix?” he asked in a whisper.

“No. It isn’t.” Vena’s voice was hard. She nodded to the red-head. “No one deserves that. Do it.” A spray of blood was the only answer she got.

“My boy!” Alexius cried.

Before he could truly react – before Felix’s body even hit the ground – Vena was darting forward, allowing her to snatch the amulet from the Magister’s neck. She tossed it to Dorian as a blast of sheer magical force pushed her away. “Get started!”

The Tevinter mage hunkered down behind a pillar to fiddle with it as a small war erupted in the hall, Alexius’ grief, rage, and terror at his failure fueling powerful blood magic against Vena and a weakened Solas, Blackwall, and Leliana. Spells and arrows were slung across the room fast enough that it was difficult to tell who was doing what. Blackwall engaged when he could, but spent a large portion of his time chasing Alexius down as he fade-stepped from place to place. Alexius was tiring, but still had plenty of fight within him when a ‘boom’ sounded. It began outside the hall, but echoed inside each participant’s chest – a hollow thud that somehow resonated fear itself. The Magister slumped to the ground with a moan as all desire to fight left him.

“He’s here.”

The three lyrium-infected fighters glanced to each other, coming to some decision. It was Solas who stepped forward to explain. “You must make the portal work. You must get back and change this future so that it never comes to be. We’ll hold him off as long as we can.”

Vena’s eyes widened as she comprehended what was being proposed. “No. You’ll die! Please!”

Despite glowing red-orange, somehow Solas’ eyes softened into a look of compassion. “We are already dead, da’len.”

Blackwall nodded, adding “the only way we live is if you return to change things.”

“You will have as much time as I have arrows,” Leliana promised.

Dorian had already moved to the dais. “Best if we do this as close to where the original portal opened as possible. Come along rabbit.”

Vena grit her teeth as she joined Dorian, her eyes trained on Leliana as the door closed behind Blackwall and Solas. Long minutes passed as Dorian continued to work while sounds of battle registered painfully close on her sensitive elven ears and Leliana began to chant a prayer to the Maker. She heard Blackwall’s death gurgle, and a sinister laugh. She heard Solas shout something defiantly in elven, his voice deeper and more powerful that she would have guessed him capable of before he too was silenced. The doors banged open and Solas’ body was thrown ahead of whatever was coming. Vena’s eyes followed it’s arc. The way it bounced, lifelessly on the floor and lay there unmoving. She heard the soft twang of Leliana’s bowstring as it loosed one arrow and then the next, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away from Solas. The red lyrium still burned from his eyes, making him seem alive, but he stared unseeing into the Beyond. She took a step forward without thinking.

“No! You move and we all die!” Dorian commanded. He had her wrist in a grip hard enough to leave bruises. Behind her, the bizarre green swirl had opened. The Tevinter mage pulled Vena closer towards it even as she fought – determined to watch these people’s sacrifice to the end. As she glanced back, she saw Leliana being torn in two, shoulder to hip by a huge sword. Behind her was something entirely inhuman… but it had been human, once. It was the last thing she saw before the portal swallowed her.

“Well,” said Dorian as he stepped from the portal – a picture of self-composure, “you’ll have to do better than _that_.”

Vena was in considerably less good shape, but she **knew** these people, where Dorian did not. “Surrender, Alexius,” she asked quietly. “Save us this pain.”

Alexius slumped, and she knew it was over. He said something further, but Vena was no longer listening. Her gazed shifted between Solas, Blackwall, and Leliana, uncertain where to land.

“Something wrong, da’len?”

Vena gave a barely perceptible nod. “I- later. Not here.”

The sound of marching metal boots filled the air and everyone found themselves drawn to attention as the King of Fereldan and his occult advisor entered the room.

“Grand-Enchanter Fiona!” Alistair bellowed. “What is going on here? When I allowed your people to take refuge in Redcliffe, you had to have known that I didn’t mean for you to allow Tevinter a foothold into my Kingdom.”

“I- I know, Your Majesty. I offer my most sincere-“ Fiona started.

“Damn your apologies. I want you and yours gone. Out of my kingdom. Now.”

“But… what will happen to us? We will be slaughtered!”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before inviting blood mages into your bed chambers,” The king replied acidly.

Vena sighed. “You’ll come with us.”

Alistair, the advisor, and Fiona all turned to the marked woman.

“Excuse me?”

“Who are you?”

“What?”

Vena nodded, more to herself than anyone else in the room. “I am an agent of the Inquisition – some call me the Herald of Andraste. Alistair, you called me Vena. And I’m saying that the Mage Rebellion will join the Inquisition.”

Fiona’s eyes widened. “And what terms are you offering?”

“Better than anything Tevinter offered, I’m sure…” Solas growled under his breath.

Vena shrugged. “What terms? You’re joining us. That’s all there needs to be.”

“We are to be…allies then?”

“No,” Vena pinched the bridge of her nose and squinched her eyes shut. “You are to be Inquisition.”

“I don’t-“ Fiona frowned.

“I suggest you take it. It’s probably the best offer you’ll get, whatever she means by it,” the advisor offered. His voice was like silk, and it made Vena shiver. She wasn’t the only one in the room either.

“Vena?” Alistair’s eyes trailed over her, and she found herself flanked by Blackwall and Solas as she nodded.

“Yes.”

Alistair’s honey-colored eyes hardened to amber. He pointed at Fiona. “I want your people out of my kingdom. Start now.” He looked around the room, then back to Vena. “Everyone out. We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The top of Vena’s staff looks like the metal trees that you find in the Dead Hand puzzle or in the Crossroads.  
> I’m sure the method of her arrival surprised no-one, but…one of Vena’s mystery solved, at least.  
> Obviously, I’m choosing to show Dorian’s darker more Tevinter side in this story, rather than the fun-loving bestie. Sorry, Dorian lovers.  
> As to the occult advisor – it’s a character from True Tests Never End. That’s all I’ll say at the moment. ;)


	10. The First Strike

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> True Tests Never End spoilers ahoy! For those who haven’t read it, I tried to make it as concise as possible, but if you have questions feel free to ask here or on my tumblr. :)

The silence was oppressive as everyone filed out of the throne room, Leliana looking back worriedly before she slipped out, leaving Vena alone with Alistair and the mysterious advisor. Once the door closed for a final time, Alistair turned to the man next to him.

“Is it really her?”

The handsome man stared, prismatic cat-like eyes taking her in, but Vena somehow felt that he was looking through her. “So it would seem,” he finally answered.

Alistair frowned harder as he turned to the elven woman. “How? How did you do it?”

Vena nodded, thinking she understood the question. “Time travel, apparently. A portal opened up and swallowed me just as the bridge in Denerim collapsed.”

“Not that,” Alistair waved her explanation away. “Although that’s good to know – I think. I’m talking about why you don’t _feel_ like a Warden anymore. What did you do?”

“I- what? I didn’t do anything! What are you talking about?”

“You don’t hear it do you? In the quiet spaces between talking and thinking. The Song. The Calling. It’s so much worse now that the Breach is open.” Alistair’s eyes grew soft as he focused on something inside his head. Vena stilled herself and listened as she would if she were hunting. He was right. There was nothing; the Song she had heard was only in her dreams. She looked to him confused. “You don’t know. Damn.” The King’s shoulders drooped. “I had hoped…”

“Hoped what, Alistair? And who is this guy?” Vena motioned to the overly striking advisor.

Alistair suddenly looked tired and wore every year of the ten that had passed. “That you’d found a way to stave off or even eliminate the Calling. Andra’s been looking for one for a long time now. This is Uriel, my occult advisor.” The man made a sketch of a bow. “She left …court… a long time ago. How much do you know?”

“As much as anyone. Loghain sacrificed himself. Mirun and Andra lived. We won, the Archdemon lost. The End.”

“Not exactly,” Alistair sighed. At Vena’s raised eyebrows he continued. “That’s the public story. And outside Uriel and the Wardens that were there, that’s the truth. But it was much more complicated. You know Andra had a deeper connection than the rest of us to the Archdemon, that she was fighting.” Vena nodded. “She chose to give in, in the end, to give us the time we needed to win. Something happened when Loghain made the final blow – I still don’t understand it. But Loghain died, we got Uriel – or rather Urthemiel, and Andra was changed.”

Vena’s eyes had grown larger with every sentence, involuntarily taking a step back from Uriel once his identity was revealed. “Changed how? Where is she?”

“She…” Alistair seemed to struggle with the words, but Uriel smoothly cut in.

“She committed herself to me that day, but Alistair was a sore loser and was unwilling to let her go, which divided her heart. He continued to pursue her, as did I.”

Alistair managed a smirk. “We figured it out, she and I. The archdemon blood is what ties her to Uriel, so she decided to seek out a way to cure it. But she left in ’32 and has been gone ever since. We get letters that let us know she’s still alive, and seems to think more clearly the further away from Uriel she is. She hasn’t been back since.” He sighed wistfully. “Maker, I miss that woman.”

“You are not the only one,” Uriel replied, his voice liquid silver.

“Yours is a compulsion – not true love,” Alistair growled, a little heat coming to his voice, and Vena got the impression this was an argument often voiced.

Uriel’s brows drew together. “My love for Andra is as true as your own.”

Alistair shook his head. “Regardless, I was hoping you knew what you’d done. But apparently it takes blowing a hole in the sky or getting marked by the Maker. Andra’s already been marked once. I’d rather she not do it again.”

“Sorry,” Vena shrugged. “But I certainly don’t believe that I’m your Maker’s Herald.” She pointed to her face. “Dalish. Still…Maybe it’s because I’m ‘fresh’ from the Blight and you’ve lived for ten years?”

Alistair considered the point. “It could be, but I can’t sense you at all. It’s like you’re anyone else, and not a Warden at all. I had hoped that you’d found a way. That I could bring her home.” The longing in his voice was painful.

“I hear it still, in my dreams. Just not when I’m awake. It’s beautiful. And frightening. I’m sorry, Alistair. I wish I had more answers for you, but everything is just one question after another for me.”

“So perhaps you aren’t free of it then. A pity.” Alistair turned from her. “And now other matters have your attention, if you’re truly the Herald. I wish you luck. It isn’t easy to save the world – make sure you trust those close to you.” It was a dismissal, and so Vena sketched a bow and left, more than happy to leave the presence of the man who she almost dared call friend once, and the ‘man’ who almost destroyed the world.

While Dorian was happy to make the acquaintance of and charm everyone he could on the way back to New Haven, more than happy to share his experiences, Vena found herself quietly wrapped in her own thoughts. Her nights were filled with indecipherable whispers, green vortexes, the incessant Song, and the image of Solas’ dead body. She would wake in a cold sweat in the early morning hours and find it impossible to return to sleep. Even so, she kept her own council and ignored the worried looked from the others until they got back to the small encampment. It was there that she handed off the papers that future-Leliana had given her to current-Leliana. After looking them over, the Triad disappeared into the war-room to discuss the next move the Inquisition should take. It was then that Solas decided to seek her out.

“Vhena?” He called quietly near the small hut that was outside the gates of New Haven.

“I’m here,” came the answer behind him.

Solas turned to find Vena sprawled on top of a large rock, her hand waving over the edge to give him a clue. He clambered up next to her and sat before speaking again. “Something has been troubling you for many days, da’len; ever since Redcliffe. What happened?”

Vena stared at the sky blue tingeing green as it turned into the Breach. The silence stretched between them as she sought how to phrase her answer best, but Solas simply waited patiently. “I’ve seen things,” She said finally. “Of course I’ve killed. We all have. I’ve seen my clan fight humans and die. I’ve seen humans die. I’ve seen what the Blight does to the land, animals, people. But that. What I saw there. What I see now, every time I close my eyes…” she shook her head to clear it.

“What is it, Vhena?” He was putting a slight emphasis on her name that no one had before, giving it a different meaning. His tone was soft, not demanding just querying.

“We went to the future. You died,” her voice was a hoarse whisper, “for me. You and Blackwall and Leliana.” Her voice rose. “And I keep seeing it over and over again. And there are voices. They won’t be quiet! And underneath it all is the Song.”

“The future? Are you sure it wasn’t just a trick of the Fade?”

Vena snorted. “No. How would I know the difference? But Dorian is certain.”

“Hmm. Perhaps so then. But these voices of yours; they are no doubt spirits – demons, if you will, trying to tempt you into a bargain that would allow them to cross the veil.”

“Why?”

Solas twitched a smile. “Because they are curious. Some spirits, despite inhabiting a single emotion, still wish to experience that which they do not know. The only way for them to do so is to cross the Veil and take possession of something to give them form. Many do not understand what it really entails – how deeply it changes them. Thus the all too rare spirits of Purpose and Wisdom become corrupted to Desire and Pride.”

Vena nodded her understanding as she processed the information, then frowned. “So you’re saying spirits and demons are really the same thing?”

“Indeed. And, much like here in the mortal world, if you are willing to accept them for who they are rather than trying to change them into something they are not, they can become fast friends. It is the change – the expectations people place on them that corrupts them into the worst forms of themselves. Again, not so different from this world.”

“Wait. You’re friends with spirits?”

“And why not?”

“Well,” Vena mused, “they aren’t exactly people…”

“Ah. And what defines a person? Is it their body or their soul? Is Cassandra defined by her cheekbones and not her faith? Varric by his chest hair and not his abilities as a story-teller?”

“I don’t know. It _is_ some pretty impressive chest hair,” Vena answered with a wicked grin.

Solas let out a surprised bark of a laugh. “Perhaps you have a point, in his case. Regardless, consider them as themselves and perhaps the voices will lessen for you. As to me giving my life for a chance at a better future? Absolutely and without question. I am sure that the others feel the same, although if it would make you feel better to speak to them about it…?”

“I- yeah. Maybe.” Vena sat up and looked away, ears burning.

“What is it, Vhena?” Solas’ voice was surprisingly close, making Vena start.

She closed her yellow-green eyes as she spoke. “Something you – well, future-you – said to me. It made me feel like you weren’t giving your life for the future, you were doing it for me.”

“And what was it that I said?” His lips were almost brushing the curve of her ear.

“That you didn’t understand until I was gone.”

Solas suddenly pulled away, his voice harsher. “Didn’t understand what?”

“That’s what I asked. Your answer was ‘anything’.”

“I see. I shall have to think on this.” Solas hopped down from the rock. “It would seem Cullen is looking for you, da’len.”

Vena sighed as she too picked up Cullen’s call Haven’s practice grounds. She made her way to him, idly picking a few leaves of elfroot as she went. “What can I do for you, Commander?”

“Oh! There you are!” Cullen turned and bit at his upper lip where a scar bisected it. “There’s a mercenary group here – the ‘Bull’s Chargers’. They say they know where the Templars are hiding, but want to talk to you. Leliana says she’s heard good things about them, but it’s your call, especially since we’re apparently friendly with the Mage Rebellion now. Oh, and since I’m playing messenger boy, Madame Vivienne would like a word as well.” He rolled his eyes.

“Great. She probably wants to tell me off about aligning with the rebel mages, too. Don’t you start!” Vena raised a finger at Cullen as his mouth opened.

The Commander raised his hands defensively, “I was only going to suggest that more Templars would be in order. Untrained mages are a danger in the best of times, and the Breach had made it far more-so. The danger of any mage turning into an abomination in the middle of our camp has gone up tremendously. It would be best if we were prepared.”

Vena rubbed her temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Do what you feel you have to, Cullen. Where do I find the leader of this merc group?”

Cullen pointed to a new set of tents and Vena made her way over to them. A small group was sitting outside the tents and Vena took a moment to really take them in. They were a motley bunch – one city elf, one Dalish elf, one dwarf, three humans of apparently varying sources, and one huge qunari. As she approached the qunari broke into a huge grin.

“Ah, excellent! You must be the Herald. I’m The Iron Bull. Pull up a stool and join us!”

Vena found herself tiny next to the huge man, eyes travelling over the vast expanse of muscle and scars that adorned him, observing one eye hidden behind a patch, and up to the intimidating horns atop his head. He looked nothing at all like Sten, and had already said more in one breath than Sten had the entire time she’d known him. She blinked as she realized the big man was openly leering at her.

“Like something you see, Herald?”

“Um,” Vena replied adroitly.

One of the humans gave a friendly push. “Ah, come on Boss. You probably scared her! Give the poor woman a chance to get her wits together.” The others in the group snickered behind their mugs.

“Sorry,” Vena apologized. “I’ve just…you’re not like…damn, you’re big.”

“I get that a lot. Most people find they like it, once they get used to it,” The Iron Bull answered, grin widening in lieu of a wink. The snickers turned into outright guffaws. Vena’s eyes widened slightly as she realized the play – the Chargers were testing her. It wasn’t a game _she_ had played before, but she’d seen it played and knew how it worked. She let a smile play across her lips.

“I bet. Of course, size isn’t really an issue for me, since I’m not most people.” Vena let the Mark show. “This tends to just burn up everything it touches. Makes it…shrivel away.” She flickered her fingers dramatically, and the male members of the crew noticeably winced. The Iron Bull just laughed.

“Good! Do the same thing to those damn demons that keep popping up and we’ve got ourselves a deal.”

“That’s the plan, but what do I need you for?”

“The Chargers’ are the best mercenary force in Thedas – and I’m not just saying that ‘cause they’re my guys. We’ve got references. We’re expensive for a reason. Plus you wouldn’t just be getting the Charger’s. You’re getting **me** as a personal bodyguard. Where you go, I go.” Vena nodded along. “One other thing before you agree. You might be okay with it – it might piss you off. Either way you should know going in. Ever heard of the Ben-Hassrath?“

“It sounds qunari…” Vena ventured.

“Yeah. Basically, they’re- well, I’m a spy. The boys back home aren’t happy with the hole in the sky. They know someone over here is claiming they can do something about it, so they sent me to see if it’s true. If so, great. If not, they get their act together and start sending ships. Nobody wants that. So I send a few letters home to keep them happy. They send me some intelligence and I can share that with your spymaster. If she’s worth anything, she’ll put it to good use. What do you say?”

Vena considered. “I say you talk a lot for a spy, and Sten didn’t say much for a warrior. You’re big, he was, well, big but not like you. You have horns, and he didn’t. I say the qun is confusing at best, but if it will help me close the Breach, I’ll take all the help I can get. I’ll also say this: If you stab me in the back, be sure you kill me with the first strike.”

The Iron Bull grinned again. “Krem?”

“The Templars have taken up residence in Therinfal Redoubt, but went pretty quiet after your people went to Redcliffe. We’ve had eyes on the place, but haven’t been able to get very close without getting spotted,” spoke the same human again.

“So there ya go. But you aren’t going without me,” The Iron Bull added.

Vena stood. “Alright. I’ll clear things with the Triad. I need to speak to a few people, be we’ll go soon.” She waved goodbye and made her way to the Chantry where Vivienne had found one of the few ‘real’ beds.

“Ah. There you are my dear. I was hoping to speak to you about our new allies. Surely you understand that having a bunch of mages running around unsupervised is a recipe for disaster? The few Templars we have simply isn’t enough. You will have to train some of Cullen’s men to be prepared for the inevitable.”

“Inevitable? That’s a rather pessimistic outlook, Lady Vivienne.”

“No, my dear. It’s realistic. The Breach threatens us all, but mages more so than any other. When you play with fire, you simply must expect to get burned. And having so many mages in one place…? Disaster waiting to happen.”

Inspiration struck. “Alright then. You get to come with me.”

“I’m sorry?”

Vena smiled a predator’s grin. “You lived in the courts and a Circle. You know Templars almost as well as Cullen, but we can’t spare him away from here. My next stop is to speak with Lord Seeker Lucius at Therinfal Redoubt, and convince him or at least some of the Templar’s under him to join us. You’re far more eloquent than a savage like me, so you’re coming along. We leave in the next day or so. Get ready.” She spun on her heel and left before the First Enchanter could argue her out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Uriel sounds (and looks!) like David Bowie, however, he’s supposed to look like whatever super-sexy very male voice/face that gets you going which is why I don’t describe him in detail.  
> I always wondered why if all the Wardens are going crazy hearing Corypheus’s call, isn’t King Alistair going crazy too? But he doesn’t even mention it – so I decided to.  
> In Cryllia’s Elven Lexicon “vena” is “to go” (which she usually takes as a joke on herself to mean ‘go away’), but Solas has transformed it to “vhena” which is “to belong” or “ours”. Know what an egg feels like? Smooth. ;)


	11. Choose Wisely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Envy aims very high.” – Ovid, Roman Poet  
> “A spirit of envy can destroy; it can never build.” – Margaret Thatcher, British Politician

As it turned out, the Inquisition could spare Cullen after all, and so the group heading to Therinfal Redoubt was considerably larger than normal; consisting of Vena, Cullen, Vivienne, The Iron Bull and his Charger’s, Blackwall, and Solas as well as a contingent of scouts provided by Leliana. The two weeks it took to get to the Redoubt left Vena plenty of time to get to know these two new members of the Inquisition.

She learned far more about The Iron Bull – Bull for short – than she really wanted, in fact. He had no ‘mother’ or ‘father’ in any sense but a biological one, instead brought up in some kind of organized orphanage. He claimed to barely understand his own religion, despite living and breathing it. Despite his muscles and scars, the man could move both fast and quietly when he wanted. Despite having just one eye, he was extremely observant to what made people tick. He liked red-heads, but anything that was alive worked for him – there was an entire group of his people dedicated to it, apparently.

Vivienne was a bitch, but she knew it and completely owned the title. Vena supposed that one did not become First Enchanter of a Circle in Orlais by playing nice. She was also the mistress of a Duke and seemed to honestly love the man, as much as she was capable of. Vena was surprised at how supportive of the Circle structure Vivienne was at first, given the multitude of complaints she’d heard from the Mage Rebellion. However, the more Vivienne spoke, the more Vena came to realize that with Vivienne’s personality and quick rise to power, she simply hadn’t been subjected to the same things that many others had. It didn’t mean the Mage Rebellion was right – it was still all anecdote, but it lent their argument more weight.

Solas did not get along with either of them. Bull was surprisingly Dalish in his views on the other side of the Veil. He saw no difference between spirits and demons – and hated them both. Solas saw no difference between the Qun and slavery – and hated them both. Even so, they had moments of comradery, both being intellectuals underneath the veneer. Solas and Vivienne were another story altogether. The polite tones of Vivienne’s voice belied the cruel words she spoke. More often than not Solas simply ignored her barbs, but every once in a while he couldn’t help but retaliate, his words scathing, until Vena intervened.

When the group finally arrived, Leliana’s scouts took to the fore, drawing out a small remaining force well away from the Redoubt which allowed Vena, Cullen, Vivienne, Solas, Bull, Blackwall, and Krem to enter unmolested. Vena knelt in the dirt of the path that lead away, frowning as the others spread out.

“A lot of people left this way, all at once, to churn up this much dirt,” she called out. “And not long ago. Keep your eyes open.”

“Chief? Commander? You’d better…” Krem called from inside the main gate.

Within the main courtyard was a scene of death. Dozens of men and women were laid out, dressed in full Templar regalia, each with their throat neatly slit. A closer look revealed red or blackened nails, or odd protrusions from their joints.

“Were they ill?” Vivienne wondered aloud. “Unable to join the mass exodus, and thus killed?”

The other’s shrugged, moving on with their investigation, but Vena remained where she was. Her heart seized in her chest as she reached forward with a shaking hand, prying one Templar’s eye open. Pure glaring red-orange stared back at her and she yelped, before fear silenced her throat, but she couldn’t look away; the scene from the future playing over and over again in her mind.

“Vena? What’s wrong?” She heard Blackwall call, but couldn’t reply.

A large sturdy hand on her shoulder made her flinch and loosed her voice. The yelp picked up where it left off, turning into a high-pitched whimper. “What’s up, Boss?” Bull asked.

It was Solas who put it together. He squatted down and leaned near her ear. “I’m here, Vhena. I’m alive. We all are. It’s okay.”

Cullen frowned, looking to Solas. “Flashback?”

Solas just nodded and pointed to the red eyes, continuing to comfort her. In a quick motion, Cullen stepped in front of Vena and pulled her hand away, allowing the poor Templar’s eyes to close again. The stimulus gone, the imagery faded to haunting memory and Vena collapsed on herself, turning into Solas’ shoulder.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t be, da’len,” he soothed. “We all have our personal demons we must fight. It is infinitely harder to do so when they literally stare you in the face.”

“Well,” Vivienne’s disapproving voice cut across the courtyard, “isn’t this a lovely scene? Commander, darling, while you gentlemen have been here cuddling with our dear Herald, I believe we’ve found something you’ll find to be of great interest.”

The group pulled away from each other, Cullen blushing furiously and quickly following the enchantress and Krem. The others trailed after. Vivienne led them to a large store room that was filled with small vials of a glowing liquid. Some were white while others were red. Cullen sucked in air through his teeth as he took it in.

“Speaking of personal demons…” he muttered under his breath as he picked one up. Louder he spoke to the group. “The Templar’s lyrium stores. We can take the pure stuff back to Haven – the Templars there will put it to good use.”

“Pure stuff?” Krem asked.

“It’s supposed to be white, like this.” Cullen picked up a vial to demonstrate. “But this,” he motioned to a red one. “It’s not right. Given what we saw outside, I don’t trust it.”

“It’s red lyrium,” Vena supplied, her voice quiet and eyes lowered. “Like what we saw at the Temple. In the future it was all over everywhere. It…it infected people, like an illness. Some of the people we fought were,” she swallowed. “They had it growing out of them. They were incredibly powerful, but-“

“Shhh. We understand,” Blackwall said as he squeezed her shoulders.

“Too well. Meredith had some before she died. The things she did with it…” Cullen shook his head. “In any case, we take the white ones. Lyrium is too hard to come by, otherwise. No sense letting this go to waste.”

Krem nodded. “On it, Commander.”

 _So. **You** are the Herald of Andraste._ Vena hissed as her Mark flared to life and her companions immediately set themselves for battle as they looked for a rift to open, but none did. They looked around confused. _It’s time we became acquainted!_ Vena felt a tug from her hand pulling her towards the main keep.

“There.” She pointed to the great doors above them. “Do you hear him?” She began walking.

“It’s generally not a good idea to listen to the voices in your head, my dear,” Vivienne advised, and for once Solas nodded in agreement with her.

Vena ignored them both, leaving the others to trail along behind or not; at their whim. They made their way through the lower keep, with more evidence of the place being quickly cleaned out as a great many people left in a hurry. One door wouldn’t open without Bull’s help, but what was inside was worth the effort.

“That’s the Lord Seeker’s office!” Cullen cried out. “There might be useful intelligence here. I’ll sort through it and meet you back at the gates. Leave a mark if you find anything else you think would be good for me to go through.”

The rest nodded as they hurried after Vena, eyes glowing as much as her hand. As they came to the final set of stairs, they could see a figure at the top of them. _Come. Show me what kind of woman you really are._

“Wait,” Solas frowned. “Something isn’t-“ but Vena began to take the stairs two at a time as her Mark flared wildly before he could finish.

The figure turned, and for a moment those at the bottom of the stairs swore it was Lord Seeker Lucius himself. “At last!” He grabbed at Vena’s collar and pulled. Time stopped.

Everything was shadows. She spun in a slow circle. Behind her was the warm pulsing heat of several huge spikes of raw red lyrium. The Mark pulsed brightly in time with it, providing some small amount of light, but oddly did not hurt. In front of her was a sickly green light that she was coming to associate with the Breach. The ground was slick wet rock. She was naked. A few steps forward moved her farther than should have been possible, and a glance backwards showed the red lyrium spikes in the far distance. In front of her was a field of the bodies she had seen at the temple, etched in red lyrium and frozen in agony; mouths, hands, or other openings acting as pilots for torch flames. She walked through them, among them, trying not to see. At the end Cullen and Josephine stood – lifeless dolls. Leliana stepped forward from a shadow, dressed as Vena knew her best; not Sister Nightingale but a Bard, formfitting leather armor and a huge bow on her back, red hair swinging free.

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” She asked as she approached the elf woman. “Everything tells me something about you.” Leliana moved behind Cullen. “So will this: watch.” She produced a knife and put it to his throat. Vena did, but said nothing as the knife slid across his jugular and sprayed her with blood. “You truly are cold hearted,” the bard offered as she stepped back into the shadows.

Josephine came alive then. “Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker. Do you know what the Inquisition can become? You’ll see.” She walked past Vena and vanished, but her voice remained. “When I’m done, the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will _be_ you.”

Understanding came to Vena in a flash. “You’re a demon. Or a spirit. Whatever.”

“Not for long.”

“And what is the Elder One?” Vena pushed.

‘Josephine’ laughed. “He is between things. Mortal once, but no longer.” Vena flashed on the glimpse of ‘other’ she had seen in the future. “Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else; by dying in the right way.”

Vena couldn’t help but laugh back. “Do go on.”

Josephine stomped into the darkness and Cullen appeared – whole and bloodless. “I am not a toy! I am Envy and I will know you! Tell me, ‘Herald’. Tell me what you think.” Vena watched as Blackwall stabbed a shadow of herself. Watched herself die. “Tell me what you feel.” Solas kissed another shadow of herself passionately over the war table. “Tell me what you see.” Cullen’s golden-brown eyes were everywhere staring at her, even as she stared at them.

In a blink they were all gone and she found looking at a bonfire. A loud vibrant drumbeat echoed as trees filled in around them, which was quickly joined by laughter and snippets of song and conversation. Vena watched as a younger version of herself crept forward, watching the celebration with wide eyes. The girl was spotted by the storyteller, who frowned, but motioned her forward all the same.

“Come, children. Hear the story of our Gods.” As Paivel began to weave his tale, child-Vena took a seat on a stump at the edge of the group of children who had gathered. Her hair was pure-white, her face yet unmarked but her eyes a flat and unremarkable grey. Her skin had not yet achieved its sun-kissed hue, and so Vena discovered that she was actually quite pale underneath her tan – a fact long faded from memory. With the hollows under her eyes, a lack of sleep rather than nutrition, she was impressively ghost-like. “…and so our Gods were betrayed by Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf.” Paivel finished his story up and the children applauded and stamped their feet before dispersing.

All except Vena, who waited before approaching. “Paivel?”

The man frowned in annoyance, but turned to the child all the same. “What is it, Vhenarellan?”

“If…if Fen’Harel is the only one of our Gods left…why don’t we pray to him, instead of people who can’t help us?”

Several nearby adults who heard the question ceased talking and turned to glare at the little girl. Paivel shook his head. “Because Fen’Harel’s help is costly indeed. We would rather fend for ourselves, and let the Gods know that we remember them than take any help from He Who Walks Alone.” He gently poked her forehead. “Questions like that are why you were named as you were, child.”

“But,” she persisted as he turned away again, “wouldn’t accepting His help be better than nothing at all? If it were really bad, I mean.”

Paivel grimaced. “Vhenarellan, I think if the Dalish were to meet the Dread Wolf, and knew it was he, we would rather take any calamity that faced us – even if it meant the end of our people – rather than accept Him back into our fold. You would do well to consider that before asking such foolish questions again.”

“I would,” child-Vena pouted. Paivel spun on her.

“What?”

She stuck out her chin in a fit of pique. “I would call on him if it meant-“

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before the back of the storyteller’s hand was slammed across her jaw, sending her small form to the ground. “Don’t you dare, tel’lath telavhenlen! You would call Him down on us, and bring us all to ruin! You truly do belong among the wolves!”

The shadow-Vena ran to the tree-line, sobbing.

“So much hurt within…” Envy laughed from seemingly everywhere.

The scene twisted, and Vena once again found herself in the Brecillian forest, but this time in an ancient ruin. It was a much more recent memory.

“Tamlen, don’t. Please,” her shadow-self begged.

“Shut up, tel’lathsa. Just stay out of my way.” The male elf-shadow pushed past her and into the cave, and her own shadow meekly followed silently, despite being the better hunter. She knew how this ended and turned away before the first of the giant spiders came into view.

“What’s wrong?” Envy snickered. “Not one for personal reflection? Try this.” The scene faded away and was replaced with a possible future. Her shadow-self stood before two unknown soldiers, who were crowing.

“Our enemies have surrendered unconditionally.”

“The Inquisition’s strength rival’s any kingdom in Thedas!”

“Our reach begins to match my ambition,” Vena’s shadow-self said. “But we will strive for more.”

“What use would I have for a kingdom?” Vena asked, shaking her head. “Never mind more.”

“So it isn’t personal power that drives you…” Envy answered with a chuckle, and once again the scene faded away.

This time a throne replaced it, but her shadow-self was standing in front of it, rather than seated on it. Instead, the ‘queen’ was a version of Keeper Marethari.

“Come forward, Vhenarellan.” Vena’s shadow-self stepped forward and knelt. “Today I recognize you as a friend to all elven kind. It was you who returned us to our rightful place. Who gave us a new Arlathan, a new Halamshiral. And this time **we will keep it**. As such you are deserving of a new name – you clearly do not belong to the Dread Wolf. Have you a name in mind?”

Vena, the real one swallowed, as her shadow-self looked up surprised. “No, Keeper.”

“Then, as you could have kept such treasures and powers for yourself but instead shared them with your people, leaving nothing for yourself, you shall be Sathima – humble one.”

Vena couldn’t help but let out a small giggle as the scene dissolved. “That is _so_ outside the realm of reality. I could present the real Arlathan to them on a golden platter and they’d never accept it as long as it came from me.”

Envy’s voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere. “Inaccuracies bother you…” A pause. “What-? Who are you? Be gone!”

The scene that emerged was a bedroom, but every surface was used. On one wall was a large trunk, while another held a chest of drawers. On the ceiling was a table and chairs, perfectly attached, despite being upside down. Also upside-down was a young man that she’d never seen before. He did not bear the overwhelming presence that Envy had, nor was he a simple shadow figure. Vena regarded him curiously, trying to place the familiar face.

His voice was a soft tenor. “Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help. You, not Envy. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Well, I am. You’re always inside you.”

“What?” Vena asked.

Cole flipped to face her, sitting cross legged on the bed. “It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.”

“What?!” Vena repeated.

Cole frowned, concentrating. “Envy hurt you, is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here, in the hearing. It’s – it’s not usually like this.”

Vena stared, eyes wide in confusion. “What!? Please, make sense!” she begged.

Cole grinned lopsidedly. “It never works like that. Sorry. I was watching. I watch. Every Templar knew when you chose to go to the other place instead of here. When you chose ‘them’ instead of ‘us’. They were angry, but not like the Lord Seeker.”

“You mean the Envy demon that wants to be me.”

“Yes. It twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re red inside. Anyway, you’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out, and then in, and then I was here.”

“Inside my head.”

“Yes.”

“Huh. So now what?”

“All of this is Envy: people, places, power. If you keep going, Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many, too many, more and more, and Envy breaks down, you break out.”

“Like the skin of a sausage stretched too tight.”

“Maybe. I hope it helps. It’s more than sitting here waiting to lose your face.”

“Yeah. I’ll pass on that.”

Cole dipped his head. “Ideas are loud here, and you can make them louder.” He motioned to the fireplace. “Think of water.” The second she did the fire was quenched with a sudden splash. “Good. Let’s go.”

The bedroom vanished and became an all too familiar bridge, archdemon bearing down on her and Da’fen. Vena scooped up the odd looking wolf pup and braced for the impact she knew was coming. Suddenly Cole was standing next to her.

“Think of something else. Hurry. It’s coming.”

Instead of the purple vortex of death, a soft snow brushed her cheeks as Vena thought of the snow in Haven. She hugged the wolf pup to her as it vanished into nothingness. A shadow version of her emerged.

“Like your clan before, allies will curse your name. Like the first Inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!” Envy crowed.

“Unless you don’t,” Cole offered in her ear. “You don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be.”

Vena sighed. “No, Cole. In this at least, Envy is right. There are too many people involved. No matter what I do, someone won’t like it – won’t like me. Especially because of who and what I am. This whole thing has gone too far for it to end with no further bloodshed or destruction. People are afraid of what they don’t know. The new. The different.” She shrugged, hands slapping against her thighs helplessly. “I learned to live with it in my clan. The rest of the world will be no different.”

Vena was charged by her shadow-self. “Unfair! Unfair! That _thing_ kept you whole! Kept you from giving me your shape!”

“Pretty sure I did that on my own,” Vena smirked.

“Pretty sure…” the Envy tried in her voice. “Pretty…ugh! We’ll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes.”

“It’s frightened of you,” Cole observed.

“It should be,” Vena replied, gripping her counter-part’s Marke and _pulling._ Envy screamed in pain as Vena’s shadow-self also activated their mark. Time resumed.

The door banged open as the Lord Seeker was consumed by a cloud of smoke. What remained was a bizarre shamble of pink skin and bones unnaturally set together into something that only vaguely resembled a human. Solas wasted no time in sending forth a stream of magic at the thing. Bull charged up the stairs with a cry, joined by Blackwall. Vivienne was quick to join the fight with a blast of cold air. It ran.

“It’s hiding. Afraid.” Cole’s voice was quiet but incessant in Vena’s ear.

Vena unfocused her eyes – a trick from her days as a hunter – and looked for what was inconsistent. To one side, just out of sight was barely a shimmer – the only give away of Envy’s hiding spot. Acting on instinct, Vena stretched her magical skills to something new. The shimmering wall dissipated into nothing, and the fight was on again. A few blows from the heavy hitters was all it took to bring the spindly creature down.

“Well done,” Vivienne complimented Vena. “I wasn’t aware that you knew how to dispel effects such as that.”

“Neither was I,” Vena replied. “Where’s Cole?”

“Who?” The rest of them looked confused. Vena shrugged, the image of the young man who had helped her quickly fading from her mind like a dream. The group reunited with Cullen who had a stack of papers with him.

“Most of this confirms what we already knew-“ Cullen said, motioning to his handful. “This Elder One is planning to kill Empress Celene. What worries me is the talk in here about marching an army of demons across Orlais. I’ll pass them on to Sister Leliana to see if she can glean anything further from them. Did you find anything useful?”

“Oh you know, demon…” Blackwall shrugged. “Would have been nice to have a Templar on hand, but we managed.”

“ _Creepy_ demon,” Bull amended. “Too many damned arms. No eyes.” He shuddered.

“What? Is everyone okay?” Cullen’s eyes flicked to Vena and then the others, worried.

Vivienne put a hand on Cullen’s arm. “We’re fine, darling. Nothing we couldn’t handle. But I do believe we’ve found everything worth finding in this dreadful place. Do lets be gone from here, shall we?”

A few plans and a bit of book keeping later, it was decided that the Chargers and the scouts that Leliana had provided would stay behind and handle the task of safely shipping the lyrium back to New Haven. The main group was on their way home, and if Vena was quieter than what they had come to expect from her no one said anything about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tel’lath telavhenlen: Unwanted orphan child.  
> tel’lathsa: unwanted one, unloved one.
> 
> Also, if anyone still reading this...I don't know who you are, or why, but thank you <3\. I have several chapters after this partially written, so if any interest is shown in me continuing - I'll keep writing! If not...well. Rocks fall, everyone dies, the end. LOL.


	12. Pull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for all you beautiful people (Karen, Tanyara, almostsophie1, and Angelavenger) who encouraged me to keep writing. I love you all! I hope you enjoy (?) this chapter.

Vena’s quieter demeanor remained after their return. Leliana confirmed what was already suspected from Redcliffe and verified by Cullen’s findings; The Elder One had plans to assassinate Empress Celene of Orlais and then march across her ruined empire with an army of demons to begin his reign of terror. The Triad promptly kicked her out of the ‘war room’ while they planned the next phase of their attack. Haven was littered with new tents from the mages rebellion. Vena could hear Cassandra dealing with someone whining at her from the other side of the gate, and promptly decided she didn’t want to be anywhere near that. Sera had completely taken over the tavern, and she and Flissa seemed to be getting along quite well. Well enough that the door was off it’s hinges…again. She was passing Varric’s tent when the dwarf waved her over.

“Vena! There you are. I wanted to talk to you, if you have a second?”

She shrugged, and moved closer to the fire. “What’s on your mind?”

“Well,” Varric started, before heaving a sigh. “It’s about something you said, actually. When you were in that dark future world? You said there was red lyrium everywhere. And now we’ve found some at Therinfal too. When we saw it at the Temple, I was hoping it was just a coincidence. But three times is a pattern.”

“I remember you warning us not to touch it. You said it was evil.”

“It is. You know regular lyrium right? Shiny blue stuff that mages use. The raw stuff is white. It’s not really harmful unless you ingest it directly. Well in Kirkwall my brother, Bartrand, and I set up an expedition into the Deep Roads. It was right after the Blight, so they were supposed to be really quiet. It’s how I met Hawke and the others. Anyway, while we were down there, we found this really ancient thaig. Inside was a statue – an idol, really –“ Varric motioned with his hands to show its size, “made up of raw red lyrium. It ended up driving my brother insane. I’ve written to every dwarven house I can think of since then and none of them have any record of the stuff.”

“Okay…” Vena frowned, “But what does it _do_?”

“Weird shit. You hear voices that aren’t there. Singing. It moves objects by itself. Really big ones. Oh, and it turned Knight-Commander Meredith into a statue. And now you’re telling me that over in Therinfal the templar’s are taking the stuff and are changing into something else, and that in this dark future of yours it was all over the damn place – infecting people like a plague? That’s…not good.” Varric paused. “I just wanted you to know how bad it really is. How bad it could be. If we find the stuff around, we need to get rid of it.”

Vena’s voice was soft as she nodded. “Believe me, Varric. I know.”

The plod of footsteps announced Bull’s presence. “Hey Boss, I was wondering-“

“Yes, you can make use of the Inquisition supplies, and yes that includes the Tavern. Krem already asked,” Vena pre-empted him.

“Heh. Good on him, but that wasn’t what I was gonna say. I was wondering if you’d like to take a walk. You look like you need to clear your head.”

The elf snorted to herself, and raised a hand in parting to Varric before joining Bull, surprised when he turned left before the gates, taking them past the newly finished siege weapons and to the bridge that lead to the Temple. “So what’s on your mind, Bull?”

“Nope.” Bull smiled gently as he leaned against a pylon. “I was serious. Something’s been eating at you since Therinfal. It started with the dead Templar, but it got a lot worse after the fight with the demon. So what’s on yours?”

Vena crossed her arms under her breasts. “As long as I do my job, what does it matter? We didn’t get the Templars, but we got the mages. I close the Breach, the sky is healed, and everyone goes home happy.” She couldn’t quite keep the bitterness out of her voice, though she made a valiant effort of it.

“Maybe. That’d be nice, but I doubt it’s going to happen. This Elder One isn’t going to go away. His plans aren’t going to dry up and vanish, and I’m betting the Inquisition won’t either. But the Inquisition isn’t going to last without a real leader, and then we’re really in the shitter. But that’s not the point, and that’s not what you’re upset about.” Bull raised a thick finger and leveled it at her. “You’re deflecting.”

Vena stared out at the scenery, without really seeing it. “You’re wrong.” Bull ‘s eyebrows raised in question but she continued before he could ask her to elaborate. “That is the point. Everyone goes home. Everyone. No one dies for this stupid Herald of Andraste crap. No one dies while their eyes still glow red.” Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “No one dies for me.”

Bull frowned as he laid a meaty hand on her shoulder. “You weren’t prepared.”

“For what?”

“Leadership. People following you, doing what you ask without question. Its not really your thing, is it?”

Vena shook her head. “I was…am…” She sighed. “It was a blessing to my clan when I was taken to be a Grey Warden. If it had been anyone else in the clan there would have been a solemn procession, tears, the whole thing as I left. As it was, I’m lucky the Keeper told me goodbye instead of kicking me in the pants. I still followed the other Wardens and did my part, but they pretty much left me alone.”

“A lone wolf.”

Vena whirled, eyes flashing in anger before she remembered that Bull wouldn’t understand the perceived insult. She slumped, deflated. “Yes, I suppose so.   But I strongly recommend never calling a Dalish that unless you’re looking to start a fight.”

“My mistake,” the Qunari conceded. “But the point stands. There are a thousand eyes on you, and you’re used to being invisible. That can’t be comfortable. Especially if they believe you’re something that you don’t believe in. I just haven’t got my finger on what it is that you _do_ believe.”

“What I believe doesn’t matter, Bull. What they believe matters. And they’re going to paint me with it until I look exactly like what they want. And the ones who live will go home and tell their children stories. Cassandra and Cullen and Vivienne and Sera and everyone will go _home_ and _live_. And then there’s me.”

“What about you?” Bull asked as gently as he could, realizing the crux of the matter was in front of him.

“I do what every good Grey Warden does. I go to the Deep Roads. I die. I become…Forgotten.” Vena’s eyes burned and she turned away again.

Bull pulled Vena into his chest, leaning to speak softly in her ear. “Hey, **_no_**. Even if everything else you said is true, that last part is not. The people who are with you now? The people who know you? They won’t forget. I won’t.”

The two stayed that way until Solas found them, Cassandra behind him leading a small army of mages.

“Ah. Well,” Solas started as Vena jumped away from her self-appointed bodyguard. “It would seem we have a Breach to close, if you’re ready?” He thrust her staff out with a frown.

“Yes. Thank you.” She couldn’t meet either man’s eyes.

Vena could no longer feel her arm. Her left hand had been sparking steadily worse as they approached the Breach, and now it was just a constant glow, the warmth spreading steadily upwards towards her chest.

“Mages!” Solas shouted, his voice carrying across the broken landscape to where the former Rebellion had taken up positions along every possible surface. “Focus past the Herald! Let her Will draw from you!”  
She moved to stand directly under the Breach, pushing past an invisible barrier with her teeth clenched. Some invisible signal was given as Fiona led the mages into focusing their power through their staves and towards her. Vena could feel the air condense around her, but ignored it a moment more, instead, remembering Solas’ advice the last time they were here. _Feel the mark, the connection to the Fade through it…_

The Song. It surged into her, from the Fade and through the Mark into her very bones. With a flick of her mind she grasped the absent power that floated around her and directed it; gave it shape and form. Willed the power to strengthen the connection between herself and the Fade. A collective gasp of surprise went up from the mages as she took what they offered and more, and a few of the weaker ones collapsed, but it was little more than background noise to Vena. Another thought and she was pulling at the Breach itself, like sucking the venom out of a wound. The Song grew stronger. She could almost understand it. Vena pulled harder, hoping for understanding, lost in a music only she could hear. On the brink, the Breach gave its last bit of energy, surging into Vena and everyone around her and sending them all flying several feet.

Solas, Cassandra, and Bull groaned as they regained themselves, and clambered to their feet.

“Vena…” Bull hissed worriedly, his eyes going wide at seeing the amount of wreckage that had been thrown about in the blast.

Solas pushed past the others and into the epicenter of the debris field to find Vena laid out, eyes glazed and tears streaming from her face despite the small smile that graced her lips. “Vhena? Vhena!” He pulled her into his lap as she gave a slow blink, and shifted her eyes to him.

“Did i’.” Vena slurred as she raised her hand and her smile grew. “Din’ e’en hur. Waz pridi tho. Sumday I’lllll ged thu werds…”

Solas smiled indulgently, assured that she was safe. “Whatever you say. Let’s get you back to Haven. There will no doubt be a grand celebration in your honor.”

After checking that her hand was fever-free, Vena was given a piggy-back ride to New Haven courtesy of Bull. She was mostly coherent by the time they arrived at the gates, but Bull refused to put her down, despite her protests. Within casks of ale and wine had already been opened and music and laughter was drifting across the air.

“I should check to make sure of our success,” Solas offered before striding away towards the cabin that was his home. Cassandra also waved, “Leliana will have reports coming in. Get some rest, or celebrate.”

“How ‘bout it, Boss?” Bull motioned towards the tavern. “Get a drink with me and the Chargers?”

Vena shook her head with a smile. “Thanks but no. Rest sounds like a much better idea.”

“As long as you aren’t getting all mopey on us again,” Bull said as he deposited her on the step of her hut.

“Not me. I have-” She was interrupted by a huge yawn, “-indomitable focus.” Her eyes drifted swiftly shut once the door closed behind her.

The shrill cries of the Shrieks in her dreams resolved into alarm bells as Cullen’s voice cut through her sleep. “To arms!” Vena rolled out of bed hand already reaching for her staff before her mind had fully awoken. Other voices drifted to her as she took in the chaos; Josephine asking what banner the enemy was marching under, the merchant yelling that she was important and should be protecting them, an oddly familiar voice desperately asking them to open the gate.

“Open the gate! Open the gate, damn you!” Vena sprinted to the gate as her mind and body became one again. She arrived in time to see a pale young man in a huge hat standing with a body at his feet.

“I’ve come to help. You, not them. People are coming to hurt you…you probably already know,” he said sheepishly.

“Cole, what’s going on?” Vena demanded. Her hair whipped in the wind, loose and tousled from her nap rather than its customary neat foxtail.

“The Templars’ come to kill you.”

“Templars? Is this where they disappeared to?” Cullen demanded to no one in particular.

Cole nodded anyway. “The red Templars went to the Elder One. He knows you. You took his mages, his demon, and almost his Templars. He’s very angry. There.” A pale finger pointed to a cliff where a human stood, directing the troops. Behind him was the inhuman creature than Vena had glimpsed in the future. Her breath caught.

“Cullen…”

The commander shook his head. “This is no fortress, Vena. If we’re to have a chance we need to control this battle from the beginning. Make them pay for every step.”

Vena sighed as she looked over the people who had gathered to her cause. Bull nodded encouragingly as Cullen turned to speak to his troops. “Okay. Everyone defend a trebuchet. If we lose those, we’ve lost everything. If you get overrun, head back to the Chantry, but take any civilians you can with you. Vivienne, Cassandra, Varric: take the first. Dorian, Sera, and Blackwall? The second trebuchet is yours. Bull, Solas, Cole, with me.”

The next several minutes were utter chaos as the red Templars descended upon New Haven. Some were simple Templars, just following orders. Others were obviously infected, their eyes glowing eerily in the twilight. Still others could barely be called human any longer, the red lyrium having twisted their forms into efficient killing machines – some small and fast, others huge and terrifying, but all of them looked to be in agony. Vena couldn’t help but shudder in revulsion when one gurgled “Thank you” as Cole removed his daggers from the man’s chest.

The other trebuchets had stopped firing, and the third one was down to its last payload, when inspiration struck. “Aim it up!”

“What?” called the crew chief, aghast.

Solas was the first to understand her mad plan. “An avalanche will bury more than we could ever hope to take down. Aim up!”

Enlightenment stole across their faces as the crew set to work, and not long after let fly. A pregnant pause as the group watched the load land high along the mountain face was interrupted only by Bull’s axe killing another Templar. And then the mountain released its snow-heavy burden. With the quiet roar that only nature can produce, the majority of the Elder One’s forces were buried under a landslide of ice and rock. A cheer went up around them as New Haven’s forces declared victory – too soon. An entirely different roar shook the skies as the trebuchet exploded into flames behind Vena. A dragon soared past them, spewing red fire as it went.

“Oh come _on_!” Bull complained.

“To the Chantry! Quickly!” Solas cried as she began to usher people down the path.

They ran. Bull stopped to help the blacksmith. Cole moved to help a wounded soldier. Solas made sure no one was behind them. Vena stared at the sky, eyes slightly glazed over. Haven itself had already been emptied by the others, so it was easy work to get to the Chantry as Roderick motioned them inside before falling to his knees.

Cole helped the old Brother to his feet. “He tried to stop a templar. The blade went deep. He’s going to die.”

“What a charming boy,” the Chancellor managed through his pain as he was eased into a nearby chair.

Cullen joined them from wherever he had been. “Our positioning is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have gained us. It’s cut a path for that army, and they’ll kill everyone in Haven.”

“No,” Cole shook his head. “The Elder one doesn’t care about the village. He only wants the Herald.”

“It’s so lovely to be popular,” Vena grumbled, her eyes still on the large Chantry doors as if she expected the dragon to appear any second. “But I’ve had my fill of dragons for the day.”

“I once saw an Archdemon in the Fade. It looked like that,” Cole frowned.

“And I’ve been killed by one in person. That’s no Archdemon. I don’t know what it is, but it isn’t that.”

Cullen interrupted, “It doesn’t matter what it is, beyond deadly. The only thing we can do now is turn the remaining weapons on the nearby mountains and hope to bury it.”

“Not an option, Cullen. That would kill us all!” Vena argued.

“The fact of the matter is; we’re dying, but we can decide how…many don’t get that choice.” He caught Vena’s eyes and pleaded with her in silence to understand.

“There is a way…” Roderick coughed.

Vena bobbed her head, once. “Then take it. Take everyone and get out. He wants me. Fine. I’ll buy you the time you need. Send a signal when you’re safe.”

She ducked out the doors before any of them had time to react and with a flick of her magic sealed them behind her, surprised at how easily it came to her now. A coat of magic was her shield while her staff acted as her drum, sounding out a war tattoo that even the most idiotic of Templars could understand. They flocked to her in droves, and she fought them off with fire and lightning, ice and sheer force. Her magic sufficed where muscle would have made do, loading and turning the last war machine into position by herself. And then _he_ came, and with him The Song.

“Enough. Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

Despite the fact that she could barely focus past The Song, there was one fact Vena could not ignore. His was the voice from the Temple. “Wh- Who are you?”

“Know me. Know what you have pretend to be. Exalt the Elder One. The Will that is Corypheus. You will kneel.”

“I find that an unlikely scenario.”

Corypheus held up an odd metallic ball that began to glow red under his power. Within her head, The Song swelled to a crescendo. “I am here for the Anchor. The process of removing it begins now.”

He held out a malformed hand and Vena’s own Mark responded, sparking green and glowing. It rose on its own, as if to meet his and she quickly worked to force it back down.

“It is your fault, Herald,” the monstrosity continued. “You interrupted a ritual years in the planning and instead of dying you stole its purpose. I do not know how you survived, but what marks you as ‘touched’, what you flail at rifts, I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

Vena could feel his focus as his mind tried to pick through her own. Pain, old and familiar, shot through her and she grimaced as she fell to her knees.

“And you use the Anchor to undo my work. The **gall**.” Corypheus strode forward and grabbed her Marked hand by the wrist to bring them face to face. Vena dangled several feet off the ground, helpless as she examined him more closely. He had been human once – perhaps even handsome, but time, Taint, and red lyrium had deformed him far beyond anything that remotely resembled humanity.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another, to serve the Old Gods of the Empire in person. I found only chaos and corruption and dead whispers. For a thousand whispers I was confused. No more. I have gathered the Will to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty.”

Vena’s eyes focused and narrowed. “No. Your success is nothing I would ever pray for, _spawn_.”

Corypheus tossed her aside like a ragdoll. “The anchor is permanent. You have spoilt it with your stumbling. So be it. I will begin again. Find another way to give this world the nation and god it requires.” Vena’s eyes were drawn to the horizon where a bolt of magic briefly lit the sky. The sign she’d been looking for. “And you,” the Elder One, continued, unaware. “I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

Vena opened her mouth to say something witty and then closed it again. She shrugged and hit the release on the war machine before diving for cover. As the landslide overtook her she felt something beneath her break and then she was falling. Debris followed along with a particularly large rock that found its way to Vena’s temple. Everything was nothing.


	13. Wintersbreath

She woke to pain – again. What was new was that instead of being centered on her Mark, the pain resolved to a horrible throbbing in her head. She dared to open her eyes only to have the world lurch one way as her stomach went the other. Bile found its way to the cavern floor – her retching echoing emptily in the chamber. Vena heaved herself unsteadily to her feet and tried to bring her surroundings into focus; a surprisingly difficult task, given that everything kept blurring out or doubling. Even so, it looked vaguely familiar. The memory snapped into place – the tunnels of the Cult of Andraste that lead to the Temple of Sacred Ashes, and more importantly, a way out. Dizzily, Vena made her way to a wall and clung to it as she pushed herself forwards and upwards.

The Herald had little concept of time after that. Snow, rock, and darkness blurred together in a seemingly endless corridor that finally deposited her onto a mountainside in the middle of a blizzard. She walked, only aware of walking _away_ from New Haven as best she could. Many times she found herself face down in the snow, with neither memory of how she’d arrived there nor any idea if it had hurt. She’d lost all feeling in her fingers and toes, her face, her ears. At one point she found herself praying. At another she swore she heard wolves. The next conscious thought Vena had was of staring at the stars and laughing.

She would die as she had lived.

Alone.

Vena was cursed to wake up in strange places. Oddly, nothing hurt. With a grunt of effort the elf woman gingerly sat up to look around, eliciting a flurry of activity and whispers in her peripheral vision – quieter than she was used to. Solas and the Triad came into view all with soft smiles and gentle steps. Solas took a seat on the edge of her bed, while Cullen took a nearby stool. The others two remained standing.

“You’ve returned to us at last,” Solas began. “Adan and I were beginning to worry.”

“What happened?” Vena asked, surprised that her voice was so rough.

Cullen offered her a canteen of water and a worried smile. “We were hoping you could tell us, if you’re able. Some of the soldiers reported seeing the dragon land. And a few other things, but… we’d rather hear it from you.”

The elven woman shook her head and immediately regretted it as her head swam. Solas offered a steading hand as she spoke. “My head…it’s all ablur, but …” She described events as best she could, with the others occasionally interrupting to ask piercing questions. She glossed over Corypheus’ effects on her, personally, as best she could, however. Eventually Cullen, Josephine, and Leliana left to discuss the implications of what they had seen, leaving Vena alone with Solas.

“Vena,” the older elf began with trepidation, “there’s something you should know.” Vena frowned at the uncertainty in his voice, motioning him to continue. “When we found you, you were half buried by the blizzard – with no idea how long you’d been there. You had a serious concussion. Frostbite was setting in. Adan and I did what we could to save you, and succeeded. For the most part.”

He handed Vena a bit of looking glass and smoothed back her hair. There she could see her left ear, looking as if some particularly vicious beast had taken a bite out of it, from the lobe to the point. It left her no less elven looking, the point still intact, but decidedly lopsided.

“Your feet will probably still hurt, but are mostly healed – it’s just time now,” Solas added, trying to ignore the pained look that crossed Vena’s face before it was snuffed out by a mask of indifference. “You should get some rest.”

When she woke again it was to angry voices. The Triad was arguing about what their next move ought to be and it left Vena’s head pounding as she pulled herself into a sitting position. Mother Giselle’s voice soothed her.

“Shhh. Try to rest.”

“How can I?” Vena retorted. “I caused this.”

“No. Our enemy caused this. They only have the luxury of argument now because of you. Thanks to your actions, the enemy could not follow. With time for our hearts to doubt, our minds turn to blame.”

Vena snorted inelegantly. “Is their faith so easily shaken, then?”

“Is it not so, with your own people?”

“I-…”

“Infighting may threaten as much as this Corypheus – wherever he and his are. That is part of the problem. We don’t even know where _we_ are. Perhaps that is why there has been no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead. Or that with Haven destroyed, we are no longer a threat. Or he readies himself for another attack. We simply don’t know, and it is that unknowing that causes such unrest among our leaders.”

“Lovely. Well, the infighting isn’t helping anything – especially my head.” Vena collapsed back onto the cot, pressing the palms of her hands to her head.

“They struggle because of what we saw. Consider; we saw our defender stand… and fall. And now we have seen you _return_.” Giselle shook her head in amazement. “The more powerful our enemy, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our ordeals seem preordained.”

Vena shook her head in denial. “When will you accept that I am not your Herald? You know I didn’t die in the avelanch. Barely – obviously, but I survived.”

“And the Veil will never be broken. The dead will never return from across the Veil. And yet they do. It is hard to accept, no? What ‘we’ have been called to endure? What ‘we’, perhaps, must come to believe? The Maker works both in the moment, and in how events are remembered. The Maker works in you, whether or not you believe in Him.”

“Good for him,” Vena growled as she rolled off the cot, a sudden need to be away from this discussion overtaking her.

She swayed as mild pain reminded her that her feet weren’t wholly healed, but she wobbled several feet away anyway. Her fade-green eyes took in the camp; downtrodden, frustrated, and broken. The people of the Inquisition could have been transposed into any alienage in Ferelden and the only thing to distinguish them would be their ears. Behind her, Giselle began to sing quietly, hitting a surprisingly low note, some kind of Chantry hymn. Leliana picked it up, her voice clear and pure ringing out across the camp and drawing attention. One by one, the camp follower joined in, eyes going soft and reverent as they gazed at their ‘savior’, and many fell to their knees before Vena. Panicked, the elf woman looked around for help only to see Solas with an odd, calculating look on his face. Silence fell and Vena had no idea what to do.

“A word?” Solas’ voice made her jump, but Vena was all too happy to follow him away from the religious masses. “Giselle is a wise woman and worth listening to, Vhena,” he began. “Her kind understand the moments that can unify a cause. Or fracture it.”

Vena frowned. “And?”

“And the humans have not raised one of our people so high for ages beyond counting. Their faith is hard won, lethallin. Worthy of Pride… save one detail.” Solas stared out into the darkness, brows furrowed. “The threat Corypheus wields? The orb he carried? It is ours. Corpheus used the orb to open the Breach. Unlocking it must have caused the explosion that destroyed the Conclave. We must find out how he survived… and we must prepare for their reaction when they learn the orb is of our people. However Corypheus came to it, the orb _is_ Elvhen and with it he threatens the heart of human faith.”

“And with that threat, elves are threatened as well,” Vena finished the thought. “They’ll eventually find a way to blame our people for this mess.”

“Most likely. It is a regrettable reality of this age. We must be above suspicion if we are to be seen as valued allies. _You_ will need every advantage, and it is faith, specifically faith in you, that is shaping this moment.”

Vena eyed Solas critically. “What are you thinking?”

“Accept and embrace your role, if not as the Herald of Andraste, at least as their savior. Become the leader they desire and require. Use their faith in you and earn their trust. Unfortunately faith tends to make martyrs of its champions. We must tread carefully.”

“Are you- you’re serious.”

“Quite. Whatever the case, that trust, their faith, the Inquisition itself cannot grow in the wilderness. If you scout to the north and act as their guide, you will find a place where it can.”

“And how am I supposed to explain my sudden knowledge?”

“Be mysterious. Perhaps it was provided to you in a dream?” The edges of Solas lips quirked.

Vena couldn’t help but send a smirk back at him. “Ah, the ever ambiguous dream.” Her face drained of all humor. “Do you really think this is a good idea?”

“I think the other choice is for this mob to flounder here in the snow while Corypheus enacts his plans on the rest of the world with no one even trying to stop him until it is far too late… and then some version of that future you saw will come to pass.”

Her eyes hardened, glowing in the night. “Never.”

The Haven refugees poured into the gates of the giant fortress’ grounds, thankful for the stone walls that blocked the harsh winter winds. Already, Cullen had set up a small table to one side and was accepting scouting reports on the conditions of the castle and its environs as they investigated. Leliana was dispatching her people to unknown effect, and Josephine flitted around trying to make people as comfortable as possible. Both Blackwall and Bull stayed close to Vena as she took her own tour of the crumbling out-buildings. As she exited the gatehouse a large crowd was gathering nearby. Brows furrowing, she hurried to Cassandra’s side.

“Is something wrong? What’s going on?”

Cassandra motioned for Vena to follow as she mounted the nearby steps. “Nothing is wrong. In fact, we have been discussing something that now needs your attention. The Inquisition needs a leader. A single unified voice. You saw what happened in the mountains when we lost you. We fractured. The four of us cannot agree on anything. But you have forced us to see past our differences; to keep our eyes on what is truly important. Will you lead us?”

They stopped at a landing where the stairs turned. There Leliana held out an ancient sword, the hilt of which bore an eye surrounded by a sunburst – the mark of the Inquisition itself. Vena gasped despite herself.

“Are you mad?” She asked, turning first to Cassandra and then to Leliana in appeal. She held up her hand and ticked off her fingers. “I’m Dalish. I’m a Warden. I’m apparently a Mage. I don’t believe in your Maker!”

“And none of that has matter to any of us that follow you thus far. It will not matter now.”

Vena let her eyes drop and scan over the crowd. Many were faces she’d never seen, shining up brightly at her. Some she recognized all too well. Bull towering a full two heads above everyone else. Sera darting between the crowd, a sneaky grin on her face. Varric grinning at her face on. Even Dorian, arms crossed, was nodding encouragingly.

“If I do this,” the elf Warden said quietly, “it will be for everyone. I’m not here on behalf of the Chantry or Mages or Elves or the poor or any of their agendas or the opposites or _their_ agendas. I’m here to stop Corypheus, and save the world. Different time, different name, different dragon. Same plan.”

“So be it.”

Vena took the sword, lofting it in the air and a cheer went up from the crowd. Cullen yelled something, but Vena’s eyes were locked onto Solas’ – cold, calculating, and proud.


	14. Finding My Religion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Head-Canon Ahoy!

The next few weeks were a flurry of activity for nearly everyone: Leliana set to redeploying her spies, Cullen directed what few troops were left to defensive locations, Cassandra helped with evaluation and training new recruits, a mass of followers and faithful set their backs to clearing out rubble and generally making the huge fortress at least somewhat livable, Varric told them stories to keep their spirits up, Mother Giselle prayed with them to keep their hopes alive, Dorian made a collection of books to begin a library and noted several volumes still needed, Vivienne worked to settle and teach the mages of the former rebellion, Blackwall helped set up the various forges, Sera helped set up the new tavern, Cole flitted about the chirurgeon and infirmary in general – presumably helping there, Josephine surrounding herself with letters and other paperwork of a presumably diplomatic nature, Solas doing the same but with research, and Bull leading his Chargers back to Haven to help with recovery efforts. Only Vena was left with nothing to do. She found herself more in the way than anything, and was politely asked to ‘stop touching things!’ on more than one occasion. Nor, she quickly discovered, could she practice her magic or staff-work as it drew a large crowd who wished to ‘witness’ the Herald or Inquisitor in her element and disrupted training routines. And that was how Vena found herself with a large pile of books Dorian had discarded as unnecessary duplicates in a room filled with cobwebs and books so ancient she was terrified of opening them for fear they would crumble at her touch. She read. And read. And read more. And when she was finished and out of books, her mind was overflowing with questions that burned for answers.

The fortress – Skyhold, Solas informed them it was called – was well under repairs, with nearly every room usable, if not in ideal form. Bull and his gang had returned, tired, but pleased with their work. Vena sought out Josephine and had her arrange a meal.

“What kind of meal did you have in mind, Inquisitor?”

“Nothing fancy. Good food. Free flowing wine. I want to talk to people. I want to ask questions, and get honest answers – not answers people think I want to hear. And it’s just us. The Triad and The Circle. No one else.”

“I’m sorry,” Josephine choked. “Who?”

“You, Cullen, Leliana – the Triad. And the Circle. Well, I suppose there’s a name for something that has nine points, but I don’t know what it is, and it’s just easier to say circle. You know – Cassandra, Varric, Solas, Bull, Blackwall, Sera, Cole, Vivienne, and,” Vena sighed, “and Dorian too.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thanks.”

Vena sat in the rotunda, butterflies flitting unpleasantly in her stomach as she awaited her invited guests. The smaller desk that was normally here, along with the couch and scaffolding had all been removed in favor of a larger round table with thirteen chairs placed around it. The settings were simple. The fare in the middle was equally simple, but plentiful – even for Sera’s now famously voracious appetite, and there were more than enough bottles of wine, ale and pitchers of beer to appease everyone’s tastes. Vena herself was dressed comfortably in tight forest green leggings and loose cotton tunic that hung to her thighs. The others trickled in, in ones and twos, surprise showing on their faces, but an enigmatic smile kept their silence as they chose their seats. Cullen was the last to arrive, an apology on his lips about work delaying him.

“Don’t worry, Cullen!” Vena chuckled as she motioned to the last chair. “We waited.” She picked up a glass and filled it with _something_ while Cullen blushed and took his spot amidst quiet snickers. Ale, as it turned out. She waited until the others got the idea and followed suit.

“First of all, I’m sure you’re wondering why in the Void you’re here. You’ve all been working so hard, and all I could do was be in the way. So I got out of the way… and look at all you’ve done. We survived. All of those people out there? They survived. They’ve done more than that. And now they have a home. Because of you and your work. You’re the real heroes. Without you…” Vena shook her head, refusing to finish the thought aloud. “I just wanted to say that I know, and I appreciate everything you do. Thank you.” She took a swallow.

“To surviving,” Blackwall added with a tip of his mug. The others echoed him and the food was served amid general silence until Sera let out a giant belch.

“Oi, baldy. How do you say ‘Excuse me’ in Elven?”

“For you, it would be ‘Ara seranna’ma’,” Solas answered primly, even as his eyes slid to Vena with a twinkle in them. Vena had to feign a cough to cover her laugher.

“Good. Now you’ll know when I don’t say it, that I’m doing it on purpose!”

“Oh Sera, really?” Josephine chided. “Honestly.”

“Yea, honestly. Never lie about shite like that…”

“That reminds me, Solas,” Blackwall cut in. “Sera and I were talking the other day, and we have a question for you.”

Solas’ eyebrows raised dramatically in alarm at the grin on Sera’s face. “I see. Can I assume this question will be offensive, then?”

“Yes. Probably. Sorry.” Blackwall began.

On the other side of the table Bull was talking to Varric, “…most dwarves have beards – or at least moustaches or something?”

“I make up for it elsewhere,” Varric replied with a grin, “And the ladies **love it _._** ”

“Yeah?”

Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne were having a quiet but heated discussion that seemed to involve either torture devices or shoes – Vena wasn’t sure which. With the ice broken, everyone had slipped into a more casual role, speaking easily to their neighbors and feasting happily on the provided food.

“Here, but not here. Alone in a crowd. I don’t understand.” Cole cocked his head to one side, big blue eyes staring at Vena curiously.

Vena shrugged. “They’re happy and relaxed for once. I shouldn’t…” She frowned, lips thinning. “I accepted my place in life a long time ago.”

“But they want to be your friend, too.”

“They’ll learn.” Vena’s answer came at a natural lull in the conversation, making her voice seem to boom out across the table, the bitterness apparent for everyone to hear. All eyes turned to her, wide in shock.

“Sorry,” she whispered and stood to leave.

A great many things happened in the next instant. Vivienne iced the two doors with hinges closed, while Solas blocked the third with a barrier. Bull jumped to his feet to grab at her wrist, even as there was a general outcry of ‘Wait!’. Vena didn’t fight the huge hand on her own, but her head was hung in shame. Gently, Bull turned her back to the group.

“Why don’t you sit back down, Vena. The creepy kid is right. Talk to us.”

“There isn’t anything to say.”

“Sounds to me like you have a lot to say. You just aren’t saying it,” Varric said frowning. “Trust me when I say that’s a bad idea. It doesn’t end well.” A look passed between the dwarf and Cassandra.

Vena sighed heavily and threw herself back into her chair, feeling a bit like a petulant teenager. She looked pointedly at Leliana – the only person in the room who had a connection to her _before_. “Who am I?”

“I don’t understand?”

“Who am I?” Vena repeated. “You spent most of a year with me fighting the Blight.” She turned, opening the question to the others. “You’ve spent time with me in the field. You’ve all spent time with me at New Haven. You’ve elected me to be your leader.”

“You are Vena Mahariel,” Josephine began cautiously. “Dalish. Of clan…Sabrae I believe.”

Leliana nodded. “You were – are – an excellent marksman and ranger. You and a clansman encountered some kind of artifact that tainted you and killed your friend. Fortunately there was a Grey Warden nearby who inducted you into their ranks. That was how we met in Lothering.”

“The Archdemon killed you, except that he didn’t, because Alexius and I were tinkering around and it pulled you out just in the nick of time. You’re welcome for that, by the way.” Dorian sniffed haughtily.

“Wait…Sabrae?” Varric interrupted. “Do you know Daisy? Er, Merrill, I mean.”

“Merrill? Mage who talks a lot? Yes, why?”

“Shit.” Varric sighed. “I don’t want to get off topic, but we need to talk later.”

Vena shrugged, confused. There was a beat of silence before she spoke. “That’s it?”

Solas shook his head, brows furrowed. “Your name is Vhenarellan Mahariel. You call yourself Vena – a terrible choice, but intentionally picked, I’m sure. You were found under the statue of the Dread Wolf. You never knew your birth parents and so were raised primarily by a woman named Ashalle. You vallaslin are unique. According to you, your clan did not particularly care for you and were happy to see you go when the Grey Wardens recruited you, and you were happy to leave. Your religious beliefs stem from the Dalish, and although I don’t know the specifics of them, I gather that they are not looked upon with any kind of kindness, not that it matters.”

“You keep your eyes on what’s important, no matter what else is happening around you. It’s why we chose you to be the Inquisitor,” Cassandra reiterated her words from the stairs.

Bull squeezed her wrist lightly before letting go and returning to his place. “And it’s a damn good choice. Leaders in the Qun aren’t chosen because they’re the smartest or the strongest. They’re chosen because they’re willing to make the hard decisions and live with the consequences. Whatever those may be. You’re that person, Boss. You’ve already proven it.”

“Quite right,” Blackwall chimed in. “Maybe the Maker had His hand in it, maybe not, but the fact remains. You’re the woman who was in the right place at the right time to take the Mark, or Anchor, or whatever we’re calling it now, from Corypheus. That is a very good thing.”

“Envy doesn’t have to be right.” Cole said suddenly. “It’s a choice. You have to open the door and let them in, too.”

“What if they don’t like what they see?” Vena’s voice wavered.

“Then you will have learned something, and grown. But they will.”

A long silence reigned as Vena considered her options. “Alright. I don’t really do people…I don’t know how. But I’ll try. Go ahead.”

Cullen cocked his head to one side, taking her invitation at face value. “What do you mean, you don’t know how?”

“I don’t know _how_. I couldn’t say anything around my clan without pissing someone off. Usually everyone. You learn to shut up.”

“You a virgin?”

“Sera!” The outcry came from several voices.

“What? Inquiring minds want to know! And she said to ask, so I’m askin’.” Sera grinned. “So?”

“No.”

“Wha? Come off it! You said you’d answer!” Sera whined.

“I did,” Vena replied. “I’m not.”

“Ooohh. Details!” The blonde elf giggled.

Vena shrugged. “Not much to tell. The Blight was on and I was a Warden in it. I didn’t want to die a virgin. He offered and I took him up on it. Just the once. I didn’t have enough to pay him again.”

Cullen choked on his beer and Josephine was turning a delicate shade of pink.

Leliana glowered. “Zevran.”

Vena nodded, seeing no reason to add anything else.

“Oh. There’s a story there.” Bull said, grinning as he looked between the two women. “Someday I’m gonna get one of you drunk enough to tell it.”

“Yes, well. In the meantime,” Solas huffed as he dragged the conversation back from the gutter, “what do you believe? You’ve alluded to it several times, but always avoided the topic directly.”

Vena blinked once before her eyes dropped to the floor. “That’s really- Um.”

“Open doors,” Cole reminded her gently.

“I guess, this is why I really wanted this dinner, I just wasn’t actually ready for it. Look, if I’m going to be your ‘Inquisitor’ and your ‘Herald of Andraste’ then I need to understand. I need it to make sense – to me. I need to find a way to make all this be…okay…with what I already believe. That’s what I’ve been doing. Trying to make all this make sense. I’ve been reading. And suddenly everything fit together in my head like a big puzzle, but it’s probably just going to make everyone angry. And I know there are still holes because I don’t know everything, and-“

“Stop, stop stop!” Dorian held up his hands. “If anyone is going to annoy people via religion, I’m quite sure that’s my department as the resident heretic. Why don’t you stick with the question you were asked, hmm? We can move on to this theory of your afterwards.”

“Fine. Elgara - The Sun - was curious about the Earth. Where they touched Elgar’nan was born. A bunch of story happens and we end up with Mythal being born from the sea. They had five children; Andruil, Sylaise, Falon’Din, Dirthamen, and June. Those, plus Ghilan’nain make up the Dalish pantheon – well, the ‘good’ parts of it. The ‘bad’ parts are the Forgotten Ones. We only remember three names, but there might be more: Anaris, Geldauran, Daern’thal. And then there’s Fen’Harel who is kind of both. Anyway, they were at war with each other. Tales differ on the details, but for some reason Fen’Harel tricked both sides into the Beyond and the Abyss, and then he locked them away. That’s why Arlathan fell. The Gods weren’t there to answer the elves prayers anymore.” Vena paused, bracing herself. “And that’s where I always get in trouble. I always figured if the Dread Wolf was the only God left listening he was the one we should be praying to. It wasn’t a popular view.”

Solas’ eyes widened slightly. “I can imagine. And your theory?”

“Well,” Vena took a deep breath. “I don’t see why anyone is fighting over religion at all. Except maybe the Qun. I couldn’t find any books about that.” She looked at Bull apologetically. The others were all staring at her incredulously.

“It’s quite simple. There is one God. One Maker. Your people claim, what? Nine? Twelve? More? The Old Tevinter Imperium claimed seven – and they were dragons. The dwarves worship their own ancestors. These aren’t compatible.” Cassandra said slowly, as if speaking to a small child.

“Why not?” Vena insisted. “Why can't it all be part of the same story?” She held up her hands at the sputtering of her companions. “Hear me out. According to your Threnodies, the Maker existed in the Abyss and created the Beyond, right?”

At the confused looks, Solas stepped in. “She means the Void and the Fade.”

This was greeted with nods and looks on comprehension, and Vena continued. “And from that he created spirits and the Golden City, but they didn’t do anything – just like he’d made them. He got angry with them and created the mortal world and humans with a burning desire to reach ever higher. He also gave them the ability to dream in the Fade.” She paused again, waiting for approval from the three humans before she continued. “So far, nothing directly conflicts with elven lore or as far as I can tell, dwarven lore. In fact, the Chantry olds that the Maker **didn’t** create the dwarves. But The Stone did.”

“You’re shitting me…” Varric rolled his eyes, but Vena was on a roll and not to be interrupted.

“And dwarves refer to The Stone as ‘she’ and ‘her’. Elgara – The Sun, is most definitely male. So why not? Why not have that be where the Elven Gods are from? Anyway, back to Threnodies. The Maker creates humans. This side of Thedas says that demons were created from the Firstborn that were jealous of humanity. The Imperials say that this is where the old gods came from – they plotted to become false gods. The Maker cast them into the earth to sleep, but they could still whisper in the Beyo-…er…the Fade. That’s how they got followers like Corypheus and his stupid plan to break into the Golden City.”

“But Coriffyfish said that it wasn’t gold when he got there, and that the chair was already empty, and that there were nothing but whispers!” Sera protested.

“Well, yeah. Its right there, if you look for it.” Vena moved across the room to a small table where a pile of books waited. She grabbed the top one and began to flip through it. “Here it is, Silence 2:9. ‘And the Light parted before them like a curtain, swept aside by nothing. Fearful to touch them.’ Of course he couldn’t see anything but darkness and shadow if the light was actually running away from him. It goes on to talk about how they didn’t find any dragons with rewards for them. Is it any wonder that they couldn’t see or hear him after spending a lifetime listening to something else, and then walking into a place that messes with your perceptions?”

Sera’s eyes were wide in panic. “But that means its all real. Fish-face? Real guy. Who walked into Heaven. A real place. And saw a Throne. Real Chair. And a Chair needs a butt, so…the Maker? Real thing! It’s too much!”

“Yeah.”

“An’ you! Weaving all your elfy shite in like it’s no big deal. Well it is!” Sera rounded on Vena. “Are you the Herald of Andraste or not?!”

Vena glanced at the older elf who nodded marginally. She squared her shoulders and caught everyone’s eyes. “I guess I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Ara seranna’ma – Literally ‘You appreciate me’. Colloquially, ‘You like that?!’


	15. So That Happened...

Vena stared into the rafters, doing her best not to snap at the three before her, her feet resting indolently on the huge tree-trunk that served as a table.

“But if we just snuck in a few of my people-“

“Why waste our time on subtleties? Just march on them and be done!”

“Niceness before knives! It costs us nothing to-“

“It costs us time and energy we don’t need to spend on this! Inquisitor, please!?” Cullen appealed to the Dalish elf.

With a sigh, Vena pulled her attention back to the three humans. “Does it matter?”

Josephine stared uncomprehendingly. “What…what do you mean, ‘Does it matter’? Of course it matters. The world’s eyes are upon us, Inquisitor. Everything we do, for good or ill, will be weighed and judged by everyone watching.”

“So what?” Vena retorted as the Antivan’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “I mean it. Who cares what Lord Kildarn _or_ his neighbors think about us? So he has refugees on his lands. So does everyone else. The Breach threatens everyone. **Corypheus** threatens everyone. Our job – _my_ job is to stop him and right now his plan is to kill Empress Celene, so unless Lord Kildarn or his neighbors or the refugees on his lands can help me keep him from doing that? I don’t give a rat’s ass about him.”

Leliana shook her head. “I understand your frustration, Vena. I do. But the Inquisition can be more than the single-minded focus that the Grey Wardens have. It will be more than the survival instinct that a Dalish Clan has. The Inquisition represents hope to people – and we can do that. We can be that hope for them. But if we’re going to exist beyond the borders of a single country we need things. We need people who will join our cause. We need money and supplies. We need power and influence. We need allies in both low and high places. And the way to do that is to respond correctly to pleas like this.”

“Fine,” Vena grumbled. “I’m going to trust you three to make decisions in my absence. If it gains us influence, do that first and foremost. If you can’t do that, get us allies. If that fails, get us supplies. If it needs my personal attention, keep it for me. I also want a notice of every officer who falls in the name of the Inquisition.”

Josephine made a few notes as Vena spoke, before looking up. “Speaking of which, while this policy of yours can table a great many matters, there are a few things that do require your attention – at least momentarily.” Vena motioned for her to continue. “We already have a certain amount of power built up. Both the Kingdom of Ferelden and the Empire of Orlais have recognized this, as well as your right to judge any who might fall under the purview of the Inquisition. I’ve already requisitioned a throne for this purpose, but there will most certainly be nobles coming to visit us – especially when you are in attendance, and most especially when you are holding court. I realize reconstruction is still underway, but we simply cannot appear shabby to them. The drapery, heraldry, standards, windows, and general décor; all of it needs to be decided upon, so that the fabrics might be ordered.”

“Tell me you’re joking.”

“Not at all, Inquisitor. How we present ourselves is of utmost importance,” Josephine replied. “Whether or not you like it, everything you do in front of the nobility is a part of The Game now, down to what you wear, what you eat, and what kind of jokes you laugh at.”

“Void take me,” Vena muttered before sighing loudly. “Okay. The heraldry should be that of the Inquisition. It’s us. It’s who we are. The rest… the rest should be about who the Inquisition is, and my answer on that hasn’t changed. We’re everyone. We’re Humans and Qunari and Dwarves and Dalish and City Elves. We’re fighters and mages both. We’re rich and we’re poor. We don’t belong to any one nation, and we sure as hell aren’t here for the Chantry. Make it work.”

“What about your quarters?”

“My…quarters?”

“Yes.”

“I have quarters?”

“Yes?”

“Ah.” Vena considered. “Am I expected to entertain nobles in these quarters?”

Leliana laughed. “No.”

“Oh. Then… just get them cleaned up for now, I guess. It’s not like I’ll be spending a lot of time there. What’s next?”

“There’s a young man in the Herald’s Rest-“ Cullen started, “It’s what they’ve named the tavern. Anyway, he wants to help the Inquisition – claims he saw some bandits or something. Do you want us to take care of it or…?”

“You were just saying we needed people right? Take him with you and see if he’s worth keeping around – if so, give him what he needs.”

“Very well. The last thing we need you for is really more of a notice than your input. We’ve been trying to get word to Empress Celene for some time now, but for whatever reason our messages don’t seem to be going through. It would appear that we are going to have to attend ourselves,” the diplomat said.

“I’m sure you’ll look great, Josephine! Have fun with that,” Vena grinned as she stood.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck, looking pained. “She means you too.”

“What.” Vena’s voice was dead.

“It’s not like you’d be going alone! Leliana and Cassandra practically have standing invites as the Left and Right Hands of the Divine, and I believe I can secure us a few more invitations without too much issue. Myself and Cullen as your advisors, of course, and…. three others, perhaps?”

“Josephine,” the elven woman said carefully. “I can’t go.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste and the Inquisitor. You _must_ go.”

“But-“

“Take some time. Think about who you wish to accompany you. I realize its several months until the event itself, but there is much to be done.”

“But I-“

“It will be alright!” Leliana soothed with a gentle smile. “We’ll be with you the whole time.”

Vena threw up her hands, voice rising in frustration, “I don’t dance! I’ve never been to a social function in my life, nevermind one with an Empress! Alistair is different… he’s just….Alistair. But this? I can’t do _this_. I don’t know how.”

Josephine and Leliana shared a glance. “Then you will be taught.”

“No, no, my dear. If you eat your soup with that spoon people will assume you were raised in barn! Do not slurp. Daintiness is the key.” Vivienne’s voice was an endless drone of critiques about everything Vena did; the way she held herself, the way she ate, the way she laughed and spoke, how she moved, and what she wore. It had been two days since the meeting and Vena hadn’t seen daylight for any of them – Josephine had her memorizing portraits of nobles likely to be in attendance, Vivienne was her instructor in all things manners, and Leliana was attempting to teach her to dance. Vena was terrible at all of it, and tempers were beginning to flare.

“Come _on_!” Vena whined, her voice echoing through the great hall. “We all know I’m just there to be put on display as the Noble Savage. Wouldn’t they rather see me flub up?”

“All the more reason for you not to do so, darling! Do try not to spill anything down your front…”

“They’ll be lucky if I don’t throw the soup across the room.”

Vivienne rolled her eyes. “I imagine if you did that, you’d at least hit what you were aiming for, unlike your mouth. Try again, please.”

“I apologize for interrupting,” Josephine rushed in looking breathless and excited, “but we just got the first sketches back from the tailor along with cloth swatches about what we might do for the ball.” And indeed she had a huge pile of paperwork with various bits of fabric hanging off each one.

Vena quickly stood and moved to a clear end of the table being used for the impromptu ‘feast’. “You can set them here. What did you have in mind?”

“Leliana and I debated about this for quite some time, but ultimately we decided that it should be some type of formal military uniform. Everyone dressed the same to represent our unity.” Josephine spread the papers out to reveal dozens of drafts of different styles, detailing everything down to the buttons and trim. “The question is – what should it look like, and what colors should it be in?”

Vena let her eyes wander over the art, noting that all of her companions had been used as models at some point. She blinked, frowning. “Josephine, this isn’t right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Where are the masks?”

“Ah. We aren’t given them for two reasons; first, we aren’t Orlesian so we’re given a pass for that, and second, our association with the Chantry excludes us from the requirement to wear them.”

“No. If you want me to play The Game, then so help me I’m going to Play. Cassandra and Leliana get a free pass if they want since they’re the Hands, but the rest of us get one. It will tell everyone all over again that we aren’t with the Chantry.”

Vena glared at the scraps in front of her. “You know. We might all be one group, but we aren’t copies of each other. Far from it. Can you really imagine Dorian wanting to look like Solas? Or Sera wanting to look like anyone else? It’s not a bad idea, for us all to be similar, to show solidarity, but… we need to be ourselves too.” She began to pull several pieces together. “See? These pieces all look like something Cassandra might wear, but Vivienne would never be caught dead in, unless we made her. And if you put this…and this… and these together, heh! It’s you all over! But they’re all still kind of the same, because they’re the same buttons and trim and things. And if we do them all in the Inquisition colors – black and red and gold – then everyone knows we’re all stand together, even if we mix up which color is the most dominant.”  
“Ah! I see! But then, what about you,” Josephine asked. “You should stand out, somehow. That’s harder to do if we’re all different.”

“Well,” Vena considered. “We can play on the fact that I’m Dalish, or that I’m a Grey Warden, or a mage…”

“We should remind them of all of those things,” Vivienne interrupted, “but some more subtly than others. The fact that you lead the Inquisition is the most important part of this venture. Being Dalish and being a mage will both be looked down on – something you will need to overcome. Not that you can’t, of course, and it’s good to remind them of it, but a more gentle touch might be best. As to you being a Grey Warden… I understand it’s a lifelong commitment. Perhaps we can find a way to combine the heraldry of the two?”

Josephine nodded emphatically. “I like that plan! I can have out people do some research, and see what they can come up with. I take it you’ve decided who you’ll be taking with you then?”

“Oh, didn’t Leliana tell you?” Vena gave a predator’s grin as she stretched languidly. “I need a break, and I need sunshine.”

Before anyone could stop her she was disappearing out the gigantic wooden doors and into the daylight. From the top of the stairs Vena could see Bull and Cassandra sparing, Dorian and Cullen on top of the battlements, and Cole quietly removing a man’s dagger from his belt. As much as she wanted to avoid Dorian, Vena wanted to speak to Cullen, so she made her way across the courtyard and up the stairs to discover the two just wrapping up a game of chess.

“Inquisitor! I-“ Cullen jumped as she came upon them.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

“Actually,” Dorian said, looking sourly at the board, “He just won.”

Cullen smirked. “Again. Was there something you needed? Or would you join me for a game?”

Vena shook her head in denial. “I would, but I have no idea how to play.”

“I could teach you.”

“My teachers haven’t been having much luck with me, recently. What makes you think you’ll do better?”

“Maybe they just don’t have my technique,” Cullen asked.

Dorian snorted softly. “And I believe that’s my cue to leave. Come find me if you want another game with a real opponent sometime, Commander.”

Cullen began to blush as Dorian walked away. “I didn’t mean…oh, Maker.”

“It’s fine, Commander. Maybe another time. I was actually hoping you could help me with something else? I want you to try silencing me again.”

“What?! After what happened last time?”

“Yes! I…the mark...Anchor…whatever, it feels different since Corypheus tried to take it from me. I feel more powerful. More in control. I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Cullen’s face shifted from horror to one of concern in an instant. “What do you mean? Have you spoken to Solas or anyone else about this?”

“No… Everyone’s been so busy I didn’t want to bother them, and then this Winter Palace thing, and…”

“And if you have to spend another minute learning how far to bow to which mask you’re going to scream, so you decided that getting flattened by me was the better idea?”

“Basically.”

Cullen nodded. “Alright then.”

A quick detour to gather a practice sword, shield, and staff, and the courtyard was cleared for them. There were spectators, but they had been warned what was going to happen, so few if any mages were in attendance. Bull, Cassandra, Sera, and Blackwall on the other hand, had front row seats. Slowly the two combatants circled each other. Cullen jabbed forward, testing, but was brought up short by a barrier of pure energy that seemed to spring into place. At nearly the same moment a tiny bit of _something_ began to hover nearby, lazily orbiting Vena’s head. Cullen frowned and prodded again, more seriously this time. Vena danced away, loosing a salvo of fade-green bolts at the Commander who brought up his shield just in time to deflect them. His eyes narrowed in concentration as the fight became more intense. A flurry of blows were blocked by Vena’s staff, but Cullen was slowly driving her to the edge of the ring. Without warning, she was gone, suddenly re-appearing behind him, before touching her head and blowing him backwards with a telekinetic burst. Cullen fell to a knee, looking surprised. Somewhere Bull’s laughter echoed across the tiny battlefield.

“Nice one, boss!”

With a grimace, Cullen slammed his sword into the ground point first, knuckles white on the hilt. Vena had enough time to open her mouth to shout before the Silence hit her. The staff fell from her grip as she dropped to all fours, desperate to keep herself upright as the world spun wildly around her.   The bit of _something_ was gone, as was nearly everything else – she could barely remember her own name, nevermind how to speak or cast a spell. Cullen was utterly in control of her world. The only thing that seemed right was something within her hand. Instinctively, she latched onto that feeling and **pulled**. It worked.

Solas ran to the courtyard. Other mages did too, but none understood the basic truth of this place – _what just happened should not have been possible here_. He stopped short when he saw the sparring ring. There, standing calmly in the middle of the ring, Vena’s eyes glowed as brightly as her hand. Cullen lay sprawled and unconscious in the dirt. The spectators were in various states of the same, from still being down to beginning to pick themselves up. As the power within the circle died out, so too did the mark. The look of calm faded as she took in the destruction around her, and rushed to Cullen’s side to make sure he was alright.

“Ugh. What did you do?” Cullen groaned out.

“I’m…not sure?”

“It’s called a ‘Fade Burst’,” Solas provided. “You essentially channeled pure spirit energy straight from the other side of the Veil to here, though how you managed one in Skyhold is beyond me. There is a reason this place is named as it is.”

Vena turned to him, her hands still on the Commander’s chest. “I asked Cullen to spar with me and ultimately Silence me. He did and it worked fine. But apparently it doesn’t turn off the Anchor. I could still draw from it, so I did. And…that happened.”

“Fascinating. With a bit of training you could probably hone it to only target your enemies.”

“Count me out,” Cullen shook his head, then winced.

“No need. There are plenty of enemies out there – and many rifts to close. We should begin work on them, should we not?”

Vena nodded enthusiastically. “Yes! Just…talk the three terrors into letting me out. I can’t do this party crap anymore.”

“Having trouble, Boss? Too bad we’re not going… I’d have liked to have seen you all dolled up.” Bull grinned.

Blackwall chuckled, “That would be a sight for sore eyes.”

“Oh you’ll get the chance. And I’ll get to see the same. We’re all going.”

Wide eyes met her all around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could say a lot of things, but in the end writers block got the best of me. I hope this chapter isn't too boring, or if it is, the next ones will make up for it.


	16. Hahren?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut. That is all.

She sat on her throne, supplicants facelessly coming before her. A pair of blue-grey eyes caught her own, his face all sharp angles and soft freckles. Solas advanced predatorily through the crowd as if they were nothing, his eyes locked on Vena’s and she found herself panting in anticipation or terror – perhaps both. Solas leaned over the throne, placing a hand on either armrest over her own, caging her in place.

“Hahren?”

“Tell me no,” he said in a low tone that wasn’t quite a whisper, sending a shiver down the base of her spine. She couldn’t speak. His soft full lips covered hers, pressing in and moving gently to encompass her whole mouth. Vena whimpered, tilting her head back to give him more access. He pulled away but otherwise didn’t move, his eyes darkened by lust, “Tell me to stop.”

Vena shook her head in denial, lips parting. He leaned in again and licked her lower lip, tracing its curve with his tongue before plunging into her mouth possessively. They fought for dominance as he tasted her. One of his hands came up to grasp her by her shirt and in a quick movement he pulled her from her seat and was dragging her behind him as he strode purposefully towards her chambers. Solas didn’t stop until he reached the chair behind her desk, pulling her close again to bite playfully at her lower lip before crushing his lips to hers as he sat. He broke the kiss then to admire his work – Vena’s lips swollen and red from abuse, her yellow-green eyes sparking and pupils blows wide from lust. His grip never slacked as he pushed her to her knees, and she went willingly.

His hands trailed lightly to cover her breasts, tracing the contours of her curves before savagely ripping the fabric from her body as if it were made of tissue. Her pale-pink nipples already stood at attention for him, and Solas grinned wickedly at the sight, casually flicking one with a long finger before capturing it with his mouth. Vena moaned softly and threw her head back as he worried it with his teeth, rolling the bud of the other between his fingers sending a spike of heat directly between her legs. Solas pulled away all contact, eyes dancing.

“Are you wet for me?” he asked – voice nearly a growl. Vena could only nod. “Show me.” Vena peeled her pants off as quickly as she was able and stood once more before him, heart beating like a hummingbirds wings. Solas only smiled and shook his head, “ _Show_ me.”

For the first time her situation registered – Vena was standing utterly naked, pulled off her throne by a man who had only to look at her funny and she acted the shemlen whore for him. And still was. Embarrassment seeped from her every pore, her cheeks flushed red even as her hand stole towards her most intimate parts, her legs spread slightly and her finger dipped into her very core once, coming out wet and glistening.

“My, my. Best clean that off, ma vhemir.” Solas licked his lips that he might not be misinterpreted. She brought her finger to her mouth and licked it clean, tasting herself. “Now me. But not to completion, if you please.”

Vena knelt before him once more. Her hands reached for his waistband, pulling Solas’ pants and smalls away ( _where had hers been?)_ and off, to be piled on one side, revealing an impressively sized cock for an elf both in width and length, already hard and weeping for her. Tentatively, Vena traced her fingers across his sac and up his length, causing Solas to shudder, but never take his eyes off her. He braced himself as she kissed his tip, swirling her tongue open mouthed around him. He shifted his hips slightly, pushing into her mouth and she closed around him. Little by little she pulled him further into the heat of her mouth, her tongue lapping at the underside of his cock as she did so, until her mouth was comfortably full before hollowing her cheeks and pulling back to just the tip. She licked his slit before repeating the process. Solas groaned and threaded his fingers through her hair, both to hold it out of her face and to have something to hang on to. After the fifth repetition, he pulled Vena away from him and across the desk, spinning her to face the room before bending over her.

“Enough,” Solas’ voice was rough with want in her scarred ear. His long fingers spread her inner lips as he searched out her pleasure, both in and out. Vena gave a quiet moan as he stroked her.

“You can give me better than that,” he complained, sharp teeth nipping into her shoulder. The next moment his warmth disappeared from Vena’s back, only to have his mouth join his fingers. Her moan dropped into a low growl as Vena’s hips pushed back of their own accord. One long slender finger joined the next as his tongue continued to flick at her clit.

“Please,” she whispered, voice hoarse with need.

“Ma nuvenin.” It was the only warning she got before he pulled her backwards into his lap, impaling her on his length, and she cried out in pain as she was suddenly stretched to his girth.

“Fenedhis, you’re tight! Lean back into me and spread your legs.” His voice was soothing silk and she couldn’t help but comply, her legs parting and then his trapping them against the sides of the desk so that she couldn’t close them. His hands wrapped around her, one spreading her folds to reveal her while the other searched out her most sensitive bud. She moaned when he found it, her head lolling back onto his shoulder.

“That’s it. Relax.” His voice poured into her like a good alcohol, his breath hot on her neck. “How does it feel, me sitting in your chair, in your room, taking you? Holding all the power over you? Do you like it?” His finger circled her clit, flicking back and forth almost casually. “Did you like everyone watching? Everyone seeing how weak you are for me? How wet I make you? How much you want me?” His pacing never increased, but all the same she felt the curl of an orgasm growing within her. Occasionally his tongue and teeth would find their way around her ears, causing her to shudder uncontrollably, and she would feel his smile. “If I hadn’t dragged you in here and instead chosen to sit on your throne, would you still moan for me?” She groaned, hips slightly rocking as her orgasm built. “I know there are others you think about, Vhena. And they would be fools not to think about you.

“Cullen – a Templar. He’s probably had women, but never anyone like you,” Solas continued. “Then again, you are a mage now, so maybe he has. Would you like that? Him Silencing you so you can’t cry out as he takes you?” Solas thrust with his hips for the first time since entering her, and Vena cried out, hips rocking to meet him. She felt a twist of magic and she could make no noise.

“Bull. Is it the appeal of the unknown and inhuman? The sheer size? Perhaps the threat of him losing control – he does so love being in control. And clearly you love being controlled.” The hand holding her open trailed upward leaving a line of wetness in its wake before tenderly tracing out her breasts, circling ever closer to her nipples, before pinching them sharply, his hands completely encompassing their size and weight. Another thrust from Solas had Vena panting in silence, dancing on the edge.

“Blackwall. You know what he is – and what he is not. You could never trust anything he says to you, but perhaps that is the appeal, hmm? The mystery man.” Solas thrust again, while continuing to flick and circle her clit. Unable to make any noise, Vena’s hands scrabbled for any purchase, eventually settling on Solas’ neck and scalp; pulling him to her to claim his mouth hungrily, tongue moving in time to Solas’ fingers.

“Why them?” Thrust. “Why have just one?” Thrust. “ _I_ am all of these things, Vhena. I want you. I **need** you.” The thrusts were faster now as Solas lost his pacing. Vena’s nails dug into flesh as she panted, silently begging him, _any_ him, to send her over the edge.

“I would give you **_everything_**.”

Vena woke with a moan, sweat on her brow. A glance to the windows revealed the sun had not yet risen and as she snaked a hand into her smalls to finish what her dream could not, she couldn’t help but wonder ‘ _what was that about?_ ’

Solas woke and frowned, concerned. That was not to say he hadn’t enjoyed the dream – the evidence of that was slowly congealing around his nether-bits. It was that this dream was none of his making; in fact, he’d had no control at all. With a sigh Solas put on a kettle and reached for a clean rag as he wondered _‘what was that about?’_


	17. A Dream within a Dream

The next morning found Vena uncharacteristically nervous and jittery as Josephine knocked gently on her door.

“A list, Inquisitor – the items we’ve been told about that would be better dealt with in person. The top page is an itemization of the open rifts we’re aware of and their general locations,” Josephine said as she handed over a small stack of papers before looking up with concern. “Are you quite alright?”

“I’m fine. Just…dreams.” She shook her head. “More unexpected consequences of the Mark, I’m sure.” Vena frowned as she spoke, and looked over the rather extensive list. “Time for breakfast I guess. Tell everyone to meet me in the main hall?”

An hour later Vena’s cohorts were gathered around a table of basic morning foodstuffs as she outlined her plan. And if anyone found it odd that she never quite met the eyes of certain male companions, no one remarked on it. “We have a long list of problems, and it sounds like we’re the only ones doing anything useful in Thedas at the moment. The problems within easy reach are in Ferelden and Orlais. As are a lot of rifts. And as you may or may not have heard by now, we’re all going to The Winter Palace,” Vena held up her hands as mouths opened to protest. “No arguments. We know only that Corypheus plans to assassinate Empress Celene there. We don't know how, but it's the heart of the Orlesian Game and I’m a walking disaster. I need all the help I can get. To take a page from our lovely Cassandra; Deal. With. It. But that isn’t for a while yet, so we can go deal with most of this crap first. Pack your bags; barring an emergency, we won’t be seeing this place again for a while. We’ll leave tomorrow morning, so Scout Harding can get a head start.”

“Where are we headed, Boss?” Bull asked.

The next several weeks proved informative for the Circle as they travelled the majority of Ferelden and Orlais. They learned that Cassandra had a weak spot for romance novels. That Vena had a deep hatred that bordered on fear for the undead. That Sera couldn’t swim but liked to pull pranks. That Varric had a story for every situation – even if he had to make it up on the spot. That Bull’s foot hurt when it rained or was too cold, despite never saying anything about it, and he _really_ liked dragons. During the day they closed rifts, solved small problems, and generally made the Inquisitions presence felt as much as possible in all the little ways. At night, Vivienne and Dorian kept up with Vena’s etiquette lessons. They kept in contact with Skyhold and the Triad via Leliana’s ravens. In fact, the only place they hadn’t gone was the Dales when Scout Harding arrived one morning with a message.

“Sorry to interrupt, Inquisitor, but there’s a letter here from Josephine for you.”

Vena bobbed her head as she took the message, eyes scanning it before she crumpled it. “Damn.”

“What’s going on, boss lady?” Sera asked with her usual sideways grin.

“We’re needed in Emprise du Lion,” Vena replied through gritted teeth. “Apparently the Red Templars have made themselves known there – in the worst way possible. And it’s getting closer to time for the peace talks to start. And I still don’t know how to dance.”

“About that, darling. Your other studies have gone reasonably well – I really don’t understand why you have such a hard time with dancing. Regardless, you should consider how you want to be introduced to the court. Some of us are easily announced. Others,” Vivienne glanced at Sera, “less so.”

Vena frowned. “We get to choose?”

“Of course! You can hardly expect a mere seneschal to keep up with all the accolades everyone has won from one ball to the next. It’s up to the attendee to provide a list.”

The muffled snigger from Sera earned her a frown from the Ice Queen. The rest of the day was spent with Vena and Sera with their heads bent together as they travelled – the occasional snort of laughter coming from one or both of them causing the entire rest of the party concern.

Once they decided to camp for the evening, Vena ate through her dinner slowly, thoughts meandering as she stared at her left hand. Thinking of nothing, she could almost hear the song again, just as Alistair had said; _the spaces in between_. It was nothing she wanted. Little in her life had been. Perhaps if she’d been normal. If just one thing in her life-

“Might I have a moment of your time?”

Her thoughts were interrupted by Solas smiling softly at her, hand outstretched. “Sure.” The two wandered a small distance away from the rest of the camp. “What’s on your mind?”

“If you’d allow it, I thought I might try my hand at teaching you to dance?”

“You?” Vena’s eyes widened.

“I am your teacher, am I not? I’ve seen countless dances in the Fade, and learned a great many of them.   I see no reason why I could not teach them to you.”

Vena laughed bitterly. “Because I’m awful. I don’t know if you’ve seen me practice, but... Really, Solas. There’s no hope there.”

“Perhaps you simply didn’t have the right partner?” Solas smiled again. “I’ve already told you you’re graceful. You simply need to learn to translate that to the courtroom. How do you feel when you move on the battlefield?”

“I- what?” Solas repeated himself, and Vena thought about it before answering. “I feel…in control, I guess. Powerful.”

“And so you should wherever you go. Except in the court your words are your weapons and spells. They can be honed to a razor edge and poised to kill, or softened and lightened to illuminate and allure. They can be a shield to deflect oncoming blows from others as well, either to redirect them harmlessly or to reflect them onto the attacker.”

Vena stared at her feet. “Okay. That makes sense, I guess. It puts some things the others have said into context anyway. But how does that relate to dancing?”

“Is battle not simply a dance to see who’s in control and who is not? You slide across it with the intent to position yourself in the best place possible for your spells or arrows to do the most damage. In a ballroom you dance across it, to whisper a word or be seen in the right place at the right time. There is no difference, except in the steps.”

“And you’ll teach me?”

“If you’ll allow it.” Vena nodded and Solas took her hand, drawing her close. “Close your eyes, Vhena. Trust that I won’t run you into a tree.”

The first few steps were hesitant and halting but slowly they became more smooth and liquid. Slowly Vena opened her eyes to see Solas openly smiling at her, and realized that she had an echoing smile on her own face, and matching lightness in her heart. In silence they twirled among the stars, until at last, Solas led her to the close of the dance. He moved to step away but she clung to him a moment more.

“I-… Thank you, hahren.” Her voice was thick.

His swallow was audible in the quiet. “The pleasure was mine, da’len.”

_Yellow-green swirls appear from nowhere and disappear just as quickly into the ever-present fog, but her footing is solid as long as she doesn’t thing about it. Because it’s red. And it’s making her blood sing a song not meant to be heard. There’s a soft yelp and she runs forward, spurred on by some unknown panic. The fog and swirls vanish as the scene resolves itself: a camp, somewhere in Ferelden. A bonfire lies in the middle of several tents, its embers burning low speaking to the time of night. To one side a qunari stands watch, but otherwise the camp is quiet with the sounds of sleep. Until a scream tears through it. People burst from the tents, some fully armored, others nearly naked, but all armed as they search for the disturbance. And then it comes._

_Like a ghost, she can do nothing to aid the effort – only watch in horror. These two fight back to back. These three move to protect the caster that cannot fight; she can only heal. This one fights alone, but his sword swings take out enough for two others. This one flits from group to group, encouraging and bolstering with both arrows and words. And there, away from the others, is she – herself in this scenario. Fighting with her bow. Alone. The ghoul-shriek comes upon her stealthily, but not enough. He was never good enough to sneak up on her and his undead status has not improved him. She moves to fire, but pauses, eyes wide as she recognizes his face._

_“Please.” His voice is wet and raspy at the same time, and she can see why. Part of his throat is missing._

_“Tamlen?”_

_“Please, lethallan.”_

_She closes her eyes and looses the arrow. She hears it thunk into his chest. She hears him breathe in his last breath. She hears him exhale._

_“Thank you.”_

_Her memory self says nothing. Her ghost self screams and the song swells_.

“Solas? Can I…can we talk? Before we leave, I mean.” Vena rubs her eyes tiredly.

Solas turns from his work on the fresco, surprised, but nods. “Of course, da’len. What’s on your mind?”

She sighs. “Too much. I dream and…” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be bothering you with this.”

“No, wait.” He catches Vena’s elbow. “I may not necessarily have answers for you, but that doesn’t mean we shouldn’t speak of what troubles you. Please.”

Vena moves to sit on his couch and he follows her. “I was told there would be dreams, when I Joined. That the Joining gives us a connection to the Blight. Most Wardens learn to block it out – at least until their Calling, when everything starts getting stronger again. But – I keep hearing it, in my dreams. I can’t block it out.”

“Hearing what, Vhena?” Solas frowns, concerned.

“The Song. Am I…did this _thing_ somehow make it worse? Am I hearing my Calling, Solas? Am I dying?” Her Fade-green eyes flash with fear.

His frown deepens and she can feel magic stir around him, though what exactly he does, she cannot say. “I don’t know, Vhena. I’m sorry. I don’t sense any more Taint in you than when I first studied you in Haven, and that is a miniscule amount. Any amount is bad, I’ll grant, but it should not be having this effect on you.”

“You studied me in Haven? I can’t imagine that took long.”

“A woman who seeming fell out of the Fade itself with a mysterious magical mark on her hand?” Solas smiles with a small laugh. “It took longer than you think. I sat beside you for days. Cassandra thought I was simply stalling for time. She even threatened to have me executed, if I recall correctly.”

Vhena chuckles. “She would.”

“You were never going to wake. How could you? So I made my plans. One last attempt to close the Breach myself, and then I would flee.”

“To where, Solas? The Breach threatens the entire world!”

“True, but some places moreso than others. I hoped to find one such place that was less vulnerable and seek out a new way to close it.” He shrugs eloquently. “I never claimed it to be a good plan. Fortunately it didn’t need to be. Despite all odds, you woke, and with you the power to close the rifts. You sealed them with a gesture… and right then, I felt the whole world change.”

Vhena feels her chest tighten. “Felt the whole world change?” she echoes.

Solas’ ears blush slightly. “A figure of speech…”

“Oh.” She looks away.

“…but an apt one, in this case. You change… everything.”

She turns back to him and suddenly they are too close. She can feel the whisper of his breath on her cheek and count the freckles on his nose. It would take a scant inch to close the distance. She does, pressing her lips to his even as an embarrassed flame rises to her face. He does not respond. Her eyes close as she whispers an apology and makes to stand – to flee, but he catches her sleeve and she turns back. His face transforms before her from one of complete shock to a soft awe, to a mischievous smile. With a small shake of his head, Solas pulls her back to him and smothers her lips with his own. His hands slide to her waist as she sinks into his lap. Her own hands come up to cup his jaw when his tongue darts out to taste her lips and she whimpers, bow-shaped lips parting. It is all the invitation he needs. One hand roam upwards to brush the side of her breasts as he pushes Vhena gently into the couch, his tongue twisting with her own. His thigh slides between her legs and she squirms at the contact, instinctively rolling her hips for more. He chuckles and lets her as his other hand trails downward to the flesh of her hip, and beyond. Vhena breaks the kiss to moan softly, her eyes slightly dazed and Solas cannot help but kiss her again. This time she is more ready for it and pulls him down to her. Her kisses trail from the corner of his mouth downward to his chin where she bites him, softly, and it is his turn to buck into her as he hisses his pleasure, but pulls away, sadly.

“We should not. Not even here.”

Vhena looks confused and hurt. “What do you mean? No one is here. They’re…” She stops to think and realization slowly spreads across her face. “We aren’t really here, are we?”

“No. This is the Fade, and we are dreaming. I think it would be best if you…” He leans closer and whispered in her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

_Wake up._

Her tent was cold. Her bed was lumpy. She was very much alone. And if anything of what she’d just dreamed was real Vena had just made a complete fool of herself. Angrily she dressed and exited to the brisk air of the pre-dawn morning. She was saluted by a few scouts that were stationed on look-out but otherwise was left alone. Still annoyed she grabbed a spare bow and quiver from the requisitions officer and found and out of the way tree.  
Aim.  
Breathe out.  
Loose.  
She missed, but her hand didn’t spasm; she was simply out of practice. An hour later the sun began to crest over the horizon and her arrows were hitting their mark every time.

“Impressive.”

She jumped, not hearing him approach. “Solas! I-“

“Clearly whatever happened to you at the Temple has given you a great deal more control over your hand than you had before. Does this mean you’ll be giving up magic?”

“I don’t think I can. It’s a part of me now. But it’s good to have options, right?”

“Always.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, before both began to speak at once. Solas’ lips twitched in an approximation of a smile as he motioned for her to go first.

“Solas, I… was that real? Because if it was, then I owe you an apology.”

“You mean to ask if what happens in the Fade is real? Because that’s a very large question, da’len. One that could take multiple lectures.”

“No, I mean-“ Vena turned to glare at him, only to find his eyes dancing. “You’re teasing me!”

“Only a little. But to answer your question, yes. And you owe me nothing. Quite the opposite. I find things…easier in the fade. The kiss was impulsive and ill-considered. It isn’t often dreams take me by surprise.”

She could feel herself turning inward, and hoped it didn’t show in her voice. “So it didn’t mean anything then. Just a dream impulse.”

“We were both in full control the entire time. I simply meant that-“

“It’s alright, Solas. I understand.”

“Do you?”

Vena lowered her bow, but still refused to meet his eyes. “I think you were pretty clear with ‘impulsive and ill-considered’, yeah. It won’t happen again.”

“I see. Well then.” Solas paused. “The others are packing camp. We should arrive in the Emprise in a few days.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ir abelas, dear Readers. I know its a bit choppy to read. I'm trying to get back into a rhythm after Trespasser. Fortunately no real changes needed to be made, so there's that bright side! I'll be hitting up all the DLCs eventually but I'll make a note before the start of the Chapter when I reach them, so you can avoid spoilers if you'd like.


	18. It Gets Stuck In Your Head...

Lace Harding met them at the edge of a small town. “Welcome to what’s left of Sahrnia.   As you can see, the river froze over – fast. And for no reason that anyone can tell. It used to be a mining town, but from what we’ve gathered the Red Templar’s have taken over it. And of course there are rifts that only you can close.”

Vena nodded slowly, trying not to exacerbate the migraine that had settled behind her right eye. “Okay. Templars – even Red ones - mean Silence. Need someone who can counteract that. Or deal with the big guys. Or – augh!” She squinted and threw up an arm to shield her face as a glare of sunshine caught on the frozen river and pierced directly into her eyes.

“You okay? You’re looking a little pale…” Varric pointed out, concerned.

“My head is pounding – but I’m the only one who can do this.” She swallowed as her stomach roiled uncomfortably. “I’ll be okay. Thanks.” She felt Bull’s towering presence behind her.

“Right – so we go light on the mages and heavy on protection and range,” Bull said, taking over. “Dorian, Vivienne, Solas; stay well back and do what you can. Varric, Sera, Blackwall – your job is to stop anyone who tries to get too close to them. Cassandra, Cole and I will get their attention and deal with the big problems. Boss,” Bulls voice dropped to something softer. “You just concentrate on not falling over, looking Heraldy, and closing any rifts we come across. Nothing fancy. Don’t risk another courtyard incident, okay?”

They picked their way through the remains of the town – destruction evident with every step. Doors stood ajar, half ripped off their frames. Entire walls were torn off houses and broken. A huge bonfire had been built at the feet of a statue of Andraste where several villagers huddled for warmth. Others wandered aimlessly, looking slightly dazed.

“What happened here?” Cassandra wondered aloud.

“The Templars,” answered a young man with a thick Orlesian accent. “I’ve done what I can to protect the town, but it is little enough when one man fights against so many.”

“And who are you, lad,” Blackwall asked.

“My name is Michael de Chevin. I originally came in in pursuit of a demon named Ishmael, but he’s being defended by them, and I could not leave these people unprotected.”

Cassandra and Vivienne exchanged a suspicious glance, but said nothing, choosing to let Vena take the lead. “A demon. Damn. What do you know about it?”

“It’s a Desire Demon – the most powerful of their kind, by all accounts,” Michael answered. “He’s inside the ancient elven fortress. If you follow this path through the caves, but turn instead of going into the mines you’ll find yourself at the front doors. It’s well guarded by various camps though.”

“Of course it is. That’s why we’re here.” Dorian smiled.

The caves in question were made of ice, rather than rock, and it seemed that the heat radiating from spikes of red lyrium was what had formed them. Vena’s head swam as Varric destroyed a few of the larger deposits. The group emerged into the bright sunlight. The Inquisitor let out a high pitched whine as she winced at the sudden changed. A few yards beyond brought them to the largest mass of red lyrium they’d seen, yet, spiking out of a natural hill like the angry frill of a varghast.

“It sings…sick music,” Cole commented to no one in particular.

Vena could hear it. The Song echoed through her bones – no tune she could hum, no beat she could follow, no words she could understand, but it was there all the same. Her jaw clenched against it, as a hulking beast made of the evil stuff roared a challenge. Bull roared back, giant axe at the ready. Metal and magic flashed in the sun and the brute was joined by its keepers. Vena remembered a lifetime ago when another mage laughed as people died around her; she hadn’t understood then, but she did now. A twist of the Veil, and the fiend is infected. When Cassandra’s sword strikes deep it explodes in a shower of blood and lyrium, spraying its compatriots. A moment later, they too die similarly gruesome deaths.

“What did you do, Vhena?” Solas frowned.

“A…friend, I guess, used to do this to darkspawn. It was extremely effective. Looks like it still is.”

“Yeah. No chance of _us_ doing that, is there? Not really how I want to go out,” Bull grinned as he wiped his face off.

“I don’t…think so?”

Dorian nodded in agreement. “I’m surprised you can do that spell, Inquisitor. Especially with such control. Necromancy did not strike me as your cup of tea.”

Vena narrowed her eyes, the pounding in her head making her even grumpier than usual. “So sorry, Dorian. I will strive to live down to your expectations in the future.” She strode forward without another word, leaving the others to trail in her wake.

“Choice. Spirit.” Imshael practically growled the words. “And I’d like to offer you a choice, Inquisitor. Allow me to live and I can grant you your dreams. Power? It’s yours. Wealth? Done. Virgins? They’re yours.”

“Answer my question, and I’ll think about it.”

“Vhena, be wary…” Solas cautioned, but was silenced by her upraised hand.

“Perhaps. Ask.”

“My friend says there is little difference between Spirits and Demons beyond what drives them. A man in the village called you a Desire demon, but you don’t have their shape, and you claim to be a Choice Spirit. I made a choice, once, between death now or death later. I could have power through the Inquisition if I wanted it. Our allies can provide us more than enough wealth. What use is a virgin to me? No. What I want is _life._ A life for a life seems like a fair deal. Can you do that?”

Imshael considered. “Possibly. It is equally likely that you would die.”

“Not acceptable.” Vena raised her left hand and rift opened behind him.

“Wait! We can work something out! We can-“

Solas gave the demon a cold smile. “She said ‘No’.” A fist made of green stone formed from nothing to his will and sped forward, punching at the demon’s gut. It hit a hastily erected barrier instead, but it didn’t matter. The stone fist had pushed Imshael backwards into the open rift. Like called to like and within seconds he was gone.

“Tell me you weren’t seriously considering his offer, my dear?” Vivienne asked concerned.

“Maybe,” Vena replied. “If he’d said yes. With no risks. It might have been worth it.”

Blackwall only frowned at her, but she pretended not to see it.

The mines were far worse than anything Vena had dared to think of. The migraine she’d been fighting all day had evolved into The Song. And The Song had become slowly louder the closer they drew to the mines. Now the primary leaders of the Inquisition were within, cliff walls exposed to open skies, and huge red lyrium deposits every few steps. The beat of The Song thundered in her blood. It was everything Vena could do to focus on moving and responding to her companions, thankful that they were taking care of the various Templars that the group encountered within, as well as the cages of imprisoned townsfolk that had been forced to work.

“There’s a letter here,” Blackwall called from a scaffolding, “from a man named Samson to his subordinates. It is…disturbing.” He climbed down with his prize and the others gathered around him. Vena stared at a nearby passage.

_It is time._

“Given what else we’ve found, it seems that he’s the one leading the Templars. Another woman, named Calpernia leads the few mages that are not with the Inquisition.” Cassandra said, putting the various pieces together.

_Join us in the dark._

Vena followed the path around to an overhang. Huge chains suspended the largest piece of red lyrium any of them had ever seen over an open pit. How the Templars had managed it was a mystery. None of them had noticed her absence.

“Both work for Corphyeus – they seem to be his primary lieutenants. We need more information on them. Something for Leliana to do,” Bull grinned.

 _Find The Song. Find the Singer._ There was nothing but the song. It burned her. Burned into her. Through her. Her heartbeat was its rhythm, her breath the treble line. It called her and she needed to be closer. To be one with it. It was so close.

“Maker!” Varric shouted suddenly, pointing to a silhouette on the ledge entirely too high above them.

“The Song is too strong here. She’s lost herself!” Cole gasped before he vanished on the spot.

A moment later he was at Vena’s side, trying to pull her back. A barrier formed around her and he was pushed away as she took another step closer to the edge, eyes locked on the thorn of red lyrium in front of her. The others ran as fast as they could to join the young man, but it was Solas who got there first, stepping through the fade to reach her faster.

“Vhena!” His arm snaked around her waist as her barrier dissipated, and pulled her backwards, away from the danger. Her eyes were glazed over, dark pupils nearly swallowing the fade-green of her eyes. “Vhena, please…”

“She can’t hear you,” Cole said worriedly. “She only hears the Old Song. But it’s wrong here. Sick.”

Surprisingly, Dorian was the next to arrive, and it was he who had the obvious answer. A well-aimed hit with the head of his staff and Vena was unconscious. “Well. I supposed we should make camp. And get our dear leader well away from this place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a picture of Vena done! Its by the ridiculously talented thetaiwanesedartjob. [Check it out!](http://cryllia.tumblr.com/post/129456515152/my-oc-vena-mahariel-the-warden-inquisitor-from)


	19. Everything Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Emprise du Lion was more dangerous than anyone anticipated...and dangers have consequences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

When Vena woke to the worst hangover she’d had in some time, she discovered she wasn’t alone. Far from it. The flaps to her tent were tied wide open and two Inquisition soldiers stood guard in torchlight and beyond that, the camp continued to move about busily. She let out a groan and squinched her eyes shut against the light and tried to remember what happened. A crunch of boots against snow told her that someone approached. A brush of magic eased the ache in her head, and a brush of slender fingers removed the stray hair from her face. Vena blinked her eyes open to see stormy blue-grey ones peering at her worriedly.

“Solas?”

“How do you feel?”

“Better now…what happened? Where are we?”

Solas glanced away. “As to where we are – after your incident, we decided we needed to get you as far from the mines as possible. That meant going across Judicael’s Crossing and facing the _three_ dragons there, but we managed. Bull had an especially grand time.” He arched an eyebrow smirking as Vena’s eyes grew wide.

“But-“

“Don’t worry, Vhena. There are rifts we can’t do anything about without you. Until then…” the older elf trailed off.

“What is it, Solas?”

“Come with me? There’s something I’d like to show you.”

Vena nodded and he helped her to her feet. Together they walked through the camp, Solas’ hand at her elbow and lower back in case she got dizzy. Even after they left the confines of the light of the camp he stayed close to her, their shoulders bumping often as he guided her over rocks and through the sparse vegetation.   Eventually he led her up a small incline to a steaming pool of water.

“Solas! What-“

“I believe your people call them Pools of the Sun. Places where Elgara’s heat still burns through the ground and warms the water, despite Elgar’nan letting his father free of his imprisonment.”

“My people,” Vena grimaced. “It isn’t the first time you’ve said that, Solas. What do you mean?”

“The Dalish have hardly accept me as one of them, Vhena. Nor do they accept most elves from the city, despite their preaching to the contrary.”

“They barely accepted me. But city elves are no better, calling the Dalish wild and feral. The Orlesian’s call Ferelden’s barbaric and uncouth while the Ferelden’s call them pompous fops. The Qunari are ‘oxmen’, the Tevinter’s are slavers, and Dwarves are short and stunted.” Vena sighed with a shrug. “And all of them make exceptions for the people they personally know. People are people. We’re all racist until we aren’t.”

Solas stared at her. “You continue to surprise me. You are truly unique. I had thought perhaps I had misjudged the Dalish, but I see now it is you. It was always you.”

“What is this about, Solas?”

Solas sat on a rock, trailing his feet in the water, and motioned for Vena to join him. “As Cole explained it, the red lyrium is similar to the Blight that runs in your veins. We shall need to be careful of that in the future. More importantly, there was enough of it in the mines that it was…resonating with you somehow.” He looked upwards at the stars shining brightly. “You nearly killed yourself. It scared me.” He looked back to Vena, and gently traced her cheek with a finger. “You scare me.”

Vena started. “Me? Why?”

“Because I can’t stop thinking about you, and about the kiss.”

She shook her head, confused. “But you said…”

“I did. And it’s still true. We should not. But loosing you would…” He trailed off in favor of leaning forward and pressed his lips to hers. She squeaked in surprise, and felt more than heard Solas chuckle at her, before closing her eyes and simply letting herself feel.

Her lips were soft and pliant under his as she snaked a hand up his chest, finding the material surprisingly soft under her fingers. His chest, however, was not. It was solid and firm, as was his grip on her shoulders as he pulled her closer into him. Vena sighed happily, melting into the warmth of his arms. Solas took advantage, tongue plunging into her mouth, to taste and be tasted. She slid in-between his thighs, standing in the steaming water as her arms curled around his neck. His own hands slid down her arms to her back, and lower still, cupping her backside and squeezing appreciatively. They broke apart for air and locked eyes.

“Solas…” Vena whispered into his ear before following it with the point of her tongue around the edge.

“Vhena,” he returned, breathing her name more than speaking it, a sigh into the night air that only she could hear.

He shivered at her touch, brushing light kisses down the line of her neck causing her to whimper quietly. Solas’ fingers skimmed under the hem of her shirt to brush the skin of her lower back and sides causing her skin to prickle. His lips trailed lower, finding the peak of her breasts through her shirt and biting with his lips. Vena’s head fell backwards as she arched into him. He stood, keeping her body pressed to his so that she could feel how much he wanted her. He kissed her again, more gently, before pulling away so she could see the seriousness and the truth behind his next words.

“Ar lath ma, Vhena. Vhenan.” He meant to leave it there, to guide his heart back to camp and let her rest, but she didn’t allow it. It wasn’t with any obvious actions or words – just a widening of her eyes, a parting of her lips, a paling of her skin in the moonlight, the smallest step backwards. She was stunned by his admission, unsure if she believed him. Unsure what to say, he simply held her and waited while the steam rose around them, slowly soaking both of their clothing.

“Why?” She said at last, voice nearly lost to the emotions behind it.

“Most people are predictable, and act with so little understanding of the world, but not you. You have shown a subtlety in your actions, Wisdom I have not seen since my deepest journeys into the ancient memories of the Fade. Every time I think I understand you and your motivations, you manage to surprise me yet again. Despite your feigned disinterest, you care – deeply – about the people of this age. You don’t like the position you have been forced into, but you pursue it with every fiber of your being because it is what you believe to be right. You refuse to be controlled or manipulated to any one political motivation or ideal. And-“ Solas quieted himself, realizing he’d grown louder in his zeal. “And you’ve been beaten into thinking you are ‘asaviru’. The Dalish did not know what a treasure they threw away.”

Vena’s cheeks and ears burned hotly as she looked away so he wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes, despite her best efforts to the contrary. “I’m no treasure, Solas. Just a mistake. In the wrong place at the wrong time. Over and over.”

“Yet you persevere. You keep trying, no matter the consequences. It is an ideal to live up to.” Solas turned her gently back to him, and brushed her ample cheekbones with his thumbs. “Ar lath ma, vhenan – even if it is never returned.” He leaned down to give her a last, sweet kiss, but as he pulled away she clung to him.

“Don’t go, Solas. Please”

“It would be kinder in the end…”

She let him go and turned away. “I would have, Solas. If you’d let me.” She sank quietly into the water. “Ar em u. Nehn.”

It was barely mouthed, but Solas’ ears picked up her words anyway. With a surge he was at Vena’s side, arms spinning her to him as he peppered her face with kisses in between whispers of “Telana…telana…telana”.

Solas sank into the water, finding a comfortable place for them both before pulling her down on top of him, forcing her to straddle his legs. His fingers worked to free Vena’s hair from the leather thong that held it in place at the nape of her neck. Suddenly it came free, and for the first time he saw it loose. Solas paused as his breath caught in his throat. It spilled over her shoulders and into her face, ending slightly above where her nipples were now visible through the wet shirt – she wore no breast band. With a groan the offending material was removed. Vena made to cover herself, but Solas smiled and shook his head as he pulled her arms out of the way. There was a sharp color change to her skin around her breasts, where a band might be, and the skin there was surprisingly pale and creamy – nearly glowing in the moonlight. His hands smoothed over her sides and the swell of her ribcage to the underside of her breasts where he traced their shape and watched, fascinated, as her pale pink nipples crinkled under his touch. He could feel her heart beating out a staccato rhythm under his hands. His eyes dragged back up to hers to find that Vena was watching his face intently for signs of…disgust? hate? She would find none of that here. Solas watched her as he dragged a calloused thumb across her aroused nipple and smiled as her eyelids fluttered. His mouth found her other breast then, tongue and teeth teasing it to a sharp point as his fingers massaged the first into a similar state. She whimpered, hips rolling into his to find some relief for the ache growing there, and found that Solas was well and truly aroused by her current state. Her fingers flew to his chest, searching desperately for a way to even out their state of undress, only to have Solas pull off of her with a small chuckle.

“A moment, vhenan.” In a fluid movement he peeled away the soft outer beige sweater to reveal another shirt underneath. One made of strips of green leather, and much more form-fitting. He removed this as well, and it was Vena’s turn to stare. She’d known he was fit, of course, his staff work was too excellent not to be, but nothing had prepared her for the true broadness of his shoulders, the hard planes and angles of his body, or the sheer tightness of his abdomen.

“Can I help you?” Solas cocked his head to one side, a slight smirk on his face.

“By the- _yes_.” With no further warning she ground down on him, intentionally this time, as her nails lightly raked at his chest drawing a low rumble of approval from him. Solas’ hands found their way to her ass once again, and down the outsides of her thighs before trailing slowly up and inwards towards her center. He stopped short of touching Vena’s most intimate parts though.

“Vhena…my heart, wait. We don’t have to do this. Now or ever if you aren’t comfortable with it. Love doesn’t need to be physical, and I know you aren’t-“

Vena stopped him with a kiss. “Please don’t. Don’t confuse me. Don’t tell me you love me and then walk away. Don’t tell me I’m not alone only to leave. Don’t half undress me and then tell me you aren’t interested. Please.”

“Oh, vhenan,” Solas hugged the elf woman close. “That was never my intent. Far from it. I do not wish to hurt you.”

“Then don’t.”

“I apologize. This is…not how I imagined our first night together.”  
Vena looked at him curiously, despite the awkwardness between them. “What did you imagine?”

“You without pants, to start-“ Solas stopped as Vena stood, still straddling him, and slipped her fingers to her pant line, sliding them over her hips and shimmying them down her legs. “Oh…”

“What else?”

“Keep going,” Solas ordered, voice thick with lust. Vena’s smalls followed the path of her pants and Solas swallowed hard. “Show me. Show me how to please you, vhenan.”

Vena’s hands travelled down her body toward the apex of her thighs, and her fingers slid over her clit, throwing her head back at the sensation.

“No. Look at me.”

A blush burned down her chest as Vena raised her head to look him in the face. One hand raised to hold the hair from her face, while the other spread her nether-lips, finger sliding lightly from one hip to the other over her nub of pleasure. Vena’s lips parted, panting as she fought to keep her eyes from sliding shut. Solas let out a rumble of approval, as his fingers skated along her calves under the water, eyes flicking between Vena’s face and her hips. He could feel her legs beginning to shake and felt his lips curl into a smile as he sat forward, pushing her hand to one side to take over. He licked a long stripe on her, catching the point of his tongue into her clit before flattening it out, drawing a ragged moan from Vena. His hands slid up her legs, one to caress her ass the other to trace the wetness of her slit for the first time. She shivered under him, and as his tongue continued to work her he slid a single, long finger into her warmth.

Vena cried out wordlessly, hands flying from her hair to his shoulders and up to caress his ears. There was no thought, only the sensation of his mouth and hands on her, and the rapidly growing sensation somewhere just below her navel. His finger slid into her again, crooking, searching for _that spot_ that she hadn’t known existed until relatively recently, and she had yet to find it on her own. He did, and she nearly screamed, nails digging into the skin of his head and her hips thrust by themselves onto his mouth. A second finger joined the first, moving faster now that he knew where to be. She felt a spike of heat straight to her groin and gasped and she began to clench around him. He pulled away.

“S- So- Solas!” Vena was on the edge, ready to fall off that cliff and into bliss.

Solas licked his lips and then each finger slowly, with a grin. “Yes?”

She was shaking. “Wh-why?”

His voice dropped dangerously low as he purred, “Because, my heart, I’m nowhere close to finished with you yet.” He stood, water dripping down his chiseled chest and pulled her to him for a scorching kiss, full of want as he rolled his hips against her, making her aware of his all too obvious need.

Vena moaned wantonly, pushing back against him as her hands flew to his hips to relieve him of his leggings. Solas’ manhood sprung free, jutting proudly from his body and it was Vena’s turn to drop to her knees in worship. The heat of him alone could have melted her, burning its way into her soul as she tentatively licked at his tip. His fingers threaded through her hair, pulling her back just enough to make eye contact. Unspoken permission was asked for and given. Solas’ fingers trailed down the side of her face to her jaw, his thumb softly tracing her lower lip. Vena pulled it into her mouth, tongue swirling around it and Solas’ face tensed. The muscles in his hand tightened and forced her mouth opened, pushing his length into her mouth to the hilt. She had no time to gag before he was pulling back out, slow enough to allow her to apply suction as her tongue followed the underside of his member, a salty flavor filling her mouth, and then he was back again. Over and over, taking his pleasure of her mouth as he felt the pressure of his own pleasure build in his spine.

Vena whined around him, snaking a hand down between her own thighs, but Solas only pulled her hair harder, and gave a harsh whisper of “no”. He pulled away and took her in. Hair wild around her face, eyes blown wide in lust, lips swollen from abuse, nipples tight and upright, and thighs glistening with her own slick, and steaming water pooling around her just below her sex – Vena was a vision of need and desire. “You are so beautiful.”

“Solas…please…” Vena was trying to keep the desperation from her voice, but could tell she failed from the lustful smirk on Solas’ face.

He sank down to her level and urged her to the same rock he’d been sitting on earlier. “Turn around.”

She knew what he wanted. Her arms went to the rock, back arching her ass up to him in offering. He couldn’t help but give it a squeeze as he moved in behind her and kissed his way up her spine. One arm wrapped around her to find her breast while the other sought out her clit once more. Behind her, Solas’ length nudged at her slit.

“Fffff-…. Ssollasss!” Vena cried out into the night, pushing her hips backwards, desperately seeking more.

In response Solas kissed his way up her neck. “How badly do you want it, vhenan?” He licked the shell of her ear. “How badly do you need it?” He sucked on her earlobe with a grin and worked his fingers faster.

“I-“ Vena’s voice broke utterly as she gave into him. “Forgotten Ones take me… Please, Solas. Please fuck me. I need you inside me. I need to feel you.   Please. Dread Wolf, please!”

His teeth sank into her ear as he pushed into her warmth at last, and groaned as her walls fluttered around him in orgasm and she let out something between an incoherent moan and a scream. She rocked against him and Solas had to shift his grip to her hips, pulling her against him hard. He knew it would leave bruises, but couldn’t bring himself to care over the sounds of flesh against flesh and the water sloshing madly around them, and the feeling and sight of her silken warmth gripping him so tightly.

He never gave her time to come down from her first – never gave her time to recover or catch her breath. He just drove her higher with every snap of his hips against hers as he bottomed out within her. He let go of her ear in order to get more air as he panted harshly, peppering her shoulder with kisses.

Vena’s cries filled the air with every exhale. “Please! Don’t stop! Harder! Please!” It was a mantra, a prayer spoken between every breath as Vena rutted against him, chasing a second orgasm. It vanished into a wordless, sustained, strangled cry as Vena’s head flew backwards, pushing her even further onto Solas as her walls clenched around him – almost painfully it was so tight. He was barely able to cast in time before sound and sight vanished in a roar of blood as Solas released himself within her. Slowly he came back to himself to find Vena slowly sliding down him and into the water, a glazed look on her face – she wasn’t back with him yet.

Carefully, he turned her, settling her against his chest and between his legs as he sank deeper into the water. He placed soft kisses along Vena’s neck, shoulders and ears while his fingers threaded through her hair to lift it out of the way. Vena moaned softly, letting her hands float to his knees.

“Hmmm,” she hummed happily.

“Back with me?” Solas asked as he kissed the tip of her ear.

“I think so…I’m not dreaming again, right? This really happened?”

Solas chuckled. “Yes, vhenan. This most definitely happened. Where did you go?”

“Flying among the stars…” Her voice sounded vaguely drugged as she turned to face him, and lifted herself for a kiss which he happily gave her. “Was _that_ how you imagined our night together?”

“No.” Solas smiled as he shook his head. “It was better.”

“I suppose we should get back to camp. The others will talk if we stay out here much longer.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I…” Vena blushed hard enough that Solas could see it in the moonlight.

“I was not lying to you, Vhena. Ar lath ma. I did not imagine our night together. I imagined our first night together. And many more after that. I realize it will not always be possible, but… my heart is yours, regardless.”

“Oh. Oh Solas.” Overwhelmed, Vena was at a loss for words, so she simply nodded.

“Well then. Shall we go back?”

“Our clothes are soaked, my love.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to strip for me when we get back – so you don’t catch cold, of course.” Solas grinned wickedly, and Vena could only blush again, splashing him with water as she tried to pull away. He laughed and pulled her in for a kiss that Vena quickly melted into and deepened. They wouldn’t be going back quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ar lath ma – I love you  
> Vhenan – Heart (Literally “Belonging to this place”)  
> asaviru – she who walks alone  
> Ar em u. Nehn. – I am alone. Again.  
> Telana – Never (Literally "Not now")


	20. Wisdom Gained

Vena woke to the soft sound of birds welcoming the sun rising in the east and an unfamiliar warmth at her back. She shifted to face it, only to discover the pleasant aches of a body little used in the manner it had been the night before. And there, lying next to her was the source. Solas. Asleep, his brow softened and lost the harsh lines of concentration it usually held. She could see exactly how long his eyelashes were, now that they lay unmoving against pale skin and a thousand freckles scattered over it like stardust. She had kissed all of them.  
And no one could know.  
As silently as possible, Vena slid from under the blanket and dressed before slipping outside. Only those people required were awake this time of day, and then grudgingly so. Vena sat next to Lace Harding next to one of the breakfast fires.  
“Anything come in last night,” she asked of the scout quietly.  
“No, thankfully. We’ve been pretty quiet here since your people took care of the dragons that were flying around. There are still a couple of rifts in the area to deal with, but we have soldiers stationed around them to take care of any incoming demons. We are running pretty short on several supplies though. We’ll need to stop somewhere to stock up soon.”  
Vena nodded and stared at the light blue sky. “How about Skyhold?”  
“What, really? I mean…yes!” Harding grinned.  
“Sure, why not? We should be heading to Halamshiral soon, but I suspect we’re all supposed to arrive together or something. And we’ve been out here for a long time, now. Everyone deserves a good bath and to sleep in their own beds for a while.”  
“That would be great! When do you want to do this? The next couple of days?”  
“Why wait? Start having people pack up after they’ve eaten. Word will get around soon enough. Leave provisions for the Rift camps and I’ll stop by them on our way back to relieve them of duty.”  
“Yes ma’am!”  
Vena chuckled to herself as she stood and moved away to work out some of the muscle knots that had developed in the night. The sun had risen significantly higher in the sky by the time she finished and those she now hesitantly called friends began to awaken and reveal themselves to the morning air. Most meandered their way towards food of one variety or another, speaking quietly among themselves about nothing in particular. Vena joined them with a soft smile and explained the plan. Solas was the last to emerge, looking far more disgruntled than usual. Vena quickly sheered her eyes away from his lithe form as he strode towards her with purpose.  
“I have to speak with you,” He began, taking her arm and pulling Vena gently away from the others. “Please.”  
Vena nodded, a frown creasing her brow as the two stepped away. “Solas, if this is about last night…“  
“It isn’t. It should be, but-“ his cut his own words off with a frustrated sigh. “I need your help.”  
She breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course. Anything.”  
“As I dreamed last night I heard a call for help. One of my oldest and dearest friends has been captured not far from here. We have to- I have to-“ The elven mage shook his head, distraught.  
“Give me the specifics, Solas. Who’s your friend and how were they captured? Where are they?”  
“Blood magic and a binding circle, most likely. My friend is a Spirit of Wisdom. The feeling of the area was familiar – in the Exalted Plains near the river I believe.”  
Vena blinked. “A Spirit. Of Wisdom. Why would they… nevermind. It doesn’t matter why. The fact is they called a spirit up, and it asked for help, so it wasn’t willing. Given everything else, we should probably look into it. For all we know its Venatori trying to get a better idea of what we’re up to.” Solas nodded, looking relieved. Vena continued, looking to her mentor for confirmation at each question. “We should probably move fast? And have people comfortable dealing with spirits. So Cole, You, Me, and…”  
“Vhena, we need to move. If it’s just us three we can move far more quickly – a day at the most. Adding another person will slow us to two days of travel at least.” The panic in his eyes was growing.  
“Shh. Okay. Just us. I’m sending everyone else home to Skyhold anyway. I’ll get Cole, and tell the others where we’re headed. You get provisions – healing, lyrium, and anything else we’ll need. I’ve already promised to take care of the rifts as we passed them though.”  
“They’re nearby and shouldn’t slow us overmuch,” Solas answered. “We can make up the time on the road.”  


The sharp smell of copper in the air warned them of what awaited them over the next hill, and the three were not disappointed. The bodies of several mages – stripped bare – were scattered across the field. Sharp slashes and broken off arrows spoke of the fact that these were victims of banditry, no doubt driven to such by the ongoing Orlesian Civil War. But these few did not account for everything, and the blood trail kept going. Following it lead to the same bandits, their bodies rent it twain, guts spilling onto the ground.  
“No. No, no. No, no, no!” Solas cried out in anguish.  
“Trapped. Bound. Fools. They will all suffer as I am made to suffer!” Cole ground out from behind his teeth.  
“I don’t understand. What happened here?”  
Solas’ eyes narrowed in barely contained anger as he pointed to a figure approaching. “Let us find out.”  
The figure resolved into a tall male mage who barely fit into his robes. “Ooh! Mages!” When he spoke his voice was high enough to make Vena wonder if he was actually a eunuch. His next words changed her mind – he was just an idiot.  
“Do you have any lyrium? We ran out while we were dealing with the bandits, but now we barely have enough energy to keep this demon contained!”  
“A demon you summoned! Except it wasn’t a demon at the time!” Solas growled at the man. “You’ve created a conflict with its inherent nature! Of course it turned into a demon.”  
“I’ll have you know I was the foremost expert on demonology at the Kirkwall Circle, and that-“ the mage began, but Solas cut him off with a gesture.  
“Shut. Up. You summoned it. Bound it to your will. Told it to deal with the bandits. That is when it turned.”  
“I..yes?”  
“Then we must unbind it! No binding, no conflict with its nature, no demon. Even a simpleton like you should be able to figure that out.”  
“No! If you let it out it will kill us all!” The unknown mage argued.  
Solas turned, eyes pleading. “Please.”  
Vena’s smile was cold as she turned to the newcomer. “The foremost expert on demonology at Kirkwall you say? Funnily enough, I have a friend who used to live there. I’m sure he’d love to meet you. In the meantime, why don’t you and any friends you have left alive go sit somewhere out of the way and try not to do anything stupid while my friends, the Fade Expert and the Spirit, discuss how best to deal with your mess?” Without even bothering to see what his reaction was, Vena turned her back on the mage to face Solas and Cole. “So. I’ve only learned so much. You say we unbind it. I’m in, just tell me how.”  
Solas took a steading breath before shooting her a thankful glance. “Do you see the ring of stones there? That is the border of the summoning circle. We can cross to and fro safely enough, but whatever is bound within cannot. Of course, anything within the circle is subject to the will and power of the creature within. But the power of the binding is held in the stones. Destroy them and we destroy the entire binding. Being unbound should free my friend and allow it to resume its natural form – that of Wisdom rather than Pride.”  
“Okay,” Vena nodded, “but they’re rocks. Not something you can just burn to destroy.”  
“It is only the form of stone, Vhena. The truth is that they are pure magical energy given physical form, just as any of your spells do. Think of it as a very complicated barrier, if you like. Do enough damage to it and it will shatter. In this case we must destroy all the pillars of the barrier for it to cease working.”  
“Oh. That makes sense. Cole are you okay with this?”  
“It’s hurting. We need to help.”  
“Right.”  
The three approached the Pride Demon with caution, who laughed. Cole began to strike at the pillar closest to them while Solas and Vena rained down their best single target spells on the two furthest. All remained out of the demon’s reach and it growled in frustration, heaving it’s body against the barrier.  
“We have hurry before it hurts itself too badly!” Cole cried out.  
Vena’s stone gave way first and a few stray bolts of energy found their way into the demon’s side, making it roar in pain, its beady eyes focusing squarely on the female elf.  
“Careful!” Solas called as he redirected his own magic moments before his pillar shattered.  
A barrage of lightning from Vena’s staff hit the remaining three stones, and broke Cole’s. The spirit moved to help Solas while Vena sent a blast of fire at the last pillar, which exploded. With the last stone destroyed, Pride gave a final anguished roar before diminishing into the form of a woman lying on the ground. The spaces where her eyes should have been glowed like tiny rifts. Solas knelt next to her, his voice cracking in pain as he spoke.  
“Lethallin, ir abelas.” I am so sorry, my friend.  
“Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir tel’him,” Wisdom replied, reaching for him. “Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nada. Ma ghilana mir din’an?” Don’t be. I’m relieved. I’ve become me again, with your help. Now you must endure. Will you guide my death?  
Vena could not see his face, but the tears were evident in his voice as he spread his hands over her. “Ma nuvenin.” Of course.  
His energy gently wrapped around the spirit as it broke apart in front of them and dissolved into nothing the Inquisitor could sense. Solas stayed where he was, shoulders silently shaking. Vena let him be, looking everywhere but at the man kneeling in the dirt. The moment stretched. Broke. Stretched again. And still Vena remained silent. Cole seemed content to follow her lead for the moment. At last Solas straightened and stood. When he turned to look at her, his face was clean, although his eyes were bright.  
“Thank you, for allowing me this, Vhena.”  
Vena nodded, unsure what to say. “I- you’re welcome. It was right, you know? You did help it. Without you…” she trailed off.  
“And yet my help should not have been necessary. What of them?” Solas jabbed an accusing finger at the mages. “They are the ones responsible. If they had not summoned Wisdom here, forced it against its nature it would still be alive. Do you really mean to take them to Skyhold with us?”  
Vena crossed her arms under her breasts. “Do you have something better in mind, Solas? He says he’s an expert on demons. From Kirkwall. My understanding is limited, but I’m pretty sure that’s two bad things that go terribly together.”  
“You’ve been given the right of Judgement, have you not?”  
Vena made a face. “So I’ve been told. What of it?” Solas stared hard at her. “You want me to…? Them? Solas they were being attacked! They were scared and defended themselves! Badly – yes. But that’s not a reason to kill them!”  
“Why not? Is that not what your Templars would do? They killed my friend. Had it been mortal that would be murder! I believe the usual punishment for that is also death!”  
“They aren’t my Templars, Solas. You know that. And if it hadn’t been your friend you might very well be defending them from Cassandra or Cullen. You’re hurting, and I understand that, but that’s no reason to take it out on them.”  
“I doubt even Vivienne would defend these particular idiots. I don’t understand why you do. But perhaps it’s simply your stomach that isn’t in it. I’ll do it myself.” Solas spun on his heel and stalked towards the mages in question.  
“Solas! Wa-“ It was too late. A ball of fire consumed them, leaving nothing but charred flesh and smoking vegetation.  
“I’ll meet you back at Skyhold. I need some time alone.” He never looked back.  


Vena stared at the ground as she walked, barely noticing her surroundings or Cole trailing behind her, desperately trying to piece together her thoughts.  
The more she thought about it, the worse the entire situation became in her head. More than once her companions had joked that spirits and the Fade were more real to Solas than people were. He had called Wisdom lethallin – at the time she had interpreted the word as ‘friend’, but the truth was there were deeper connotations to it. Blood-friend. A friend you consider so close as to be family. Kin. She remembered the silly conversation he and Blackwall had had about sexual relations with spirits, and how he’d deftly avoided the question. Now she knew why. She remembered his words about how their conversation should have been about what happened between them, but Wisdom was more important. And now that Wisdom was gone he’d rather be alone than with her. She was a fool.  
So consumed with her thoughts Vena never noticed the glint of an arrowhead in the rock formation above. She never noticed the archer move to get a better angle on his target. Never heard the soft twang of his bowstring. But she felt it, as the arrow slid home between her ribs and into her lung. Surprised, she slid to the ground, suddenly entirely too short of breath and stared down at the fletching now sprouting from her side. Cole loomed over her, huge blue eyes scanning the horizon for further dangers, but the assassin’s job was done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...The end...
> 
>  
> 
> I kid! Of course that's not the end - even if it has been forever and a day since I last updated this. Sorry about that. orz  
> In much more awesome news - I have a beta <3


	21. The Ghosts that Haunt Us

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you WTGW for getting me off my butt to finish writing this chapter!

Solas’ time spent alone reflecting had reminded him of what was truly important. It had refocused him, and made him more determined than ever to achieve his goals. Even in death, Wisdom had lit his path and he silently thanked her for it as he approached Skyhold. The huge doors swung open, and he passed through the familiar gates. He spied runners heading off - no doubt to announce his return to the Inquisition. But as he approached the stairs to the main hall, no one appeared to greet his return. A furrow creased his brow. Courtiers murmured quietly to one another; a general tension palpable in the air. The whispers turned more heated as he passed.

“That’s him, isn’t it?”

“How dare that apostate show his face here!”

“Damn mages… damn _elves_!”

“Can you believe it? Just walking in like nothing happened…”

His frown deepened as Solas turned into the rotunda to drop his pack. Everything was as he’d left it. Not thirty seconds later, Cullen strode into the room, eyes blazing, hands curled into balls. Solas schooled his features to one of calm acceptance.

“You.”

“Yes, Commander?”

“How could you?!” Cullen demanded. “How could you do that to her? You are her teacher, Solas!”

Solas felt his cheeks begin to burn. Had she told everyone what had passed between them in the Emprise du Lion? Regardless of his feelings, he’d been under the impression she was less comfortable with it, never mind the effects it would have on the Inquisitor’s reputation to be with an elven apostate. “Commander, I-”

“And then you dare waltz in here as if nothing had happened. You don’t even go see how she’s doing? She almost died, Solas. Don’t you care?!”

“I’m sorry, what? What do you mean Vhena almost died?” The panic in Solas’ voice was evident.

Cullen’s eyes narrowed as he waved an angry hand towards the stairs that lead to Vena’s private quarters. “Go find out for yourself.”

It was everything he could do to compose himself as he walked through the great hall, eyes taking in all the subtle changes. The rubble had been swept away to reveal a beautiful stone floor. The huge stained glass windows behind the throne had been expertly repaired to their most recent version. The throne was an imposing blood red chair with the eye of the inquisition embroidered in gold and surrounded by black metal spikes. Above the hall fluttered multiple banners, all bearing the heraldry of the Inquisition. The door to the right was simple enough, and within was the long staircase that told a tale of a castle still under repair - holes in the walls were covered with random banners - whatever had been handy to keep the drafts down. The stairs themselves were cluttered with construction materials, tools, and scaffolding. Another door at the top led to the room itself, and Solas entered cautiously. Murmuring drifted down the short staired hallway, but his eyes took in the changes to the room as he crested the small divide. It was… crowded. Not just with people, although there were plenty of those, but with things.

There was a shelf filled with small precious rocks. A display cabinet was filled with small animals and totems made of glass, wood, and semi-precious stones. Above the mantle of the fireplace was a collection of toy soldiers from around Thedas and medallions of service. In one corner was a wardrobe full of clothing, and on top of which was a jewelry box stuffed to the brim of small glittering items. A desk covered in paperwork occupied another corner, behind which were a few bookshelves, filled with various volumes. The area where the bed should have been was hidden behind the crowd of people that Vena had collected over her travels, all speaking in quiet tones that fell into silent glares as the elven apostate approached. Bull moved to one side so Solas could get closer. Vena lay on a pile of furs, her chest wrapped in bandages. Her yellow-green eyes were closed and her breathing shallow and clearly labored.

“Aiden and I did what we could,” Dorian said quietly, “But I’m not well versed in healing magic. We were fortunate that it was Cole who was with her when it happened.”

“When-” Solas’ voice cracked, and he started again. “When what happened?”

It was Cole himself who answered. “So much pain. Another friend lost to time and ignorance. A need to be alone with the pain until it can be managed. He never knew they waited for her.” Cole turned to Solas. “Sharp pain, feathers blooming like a flower from her ribs. Drowning in the middle of the plains. I couldn’t help. I couldn’t help!”

“Hush, Cole. You did all you could,” Viviene replied, a surprising amount of softness in her voice as she spoke to the spirit. “If you hadn’t sensed that Dalish clan nearby she would have died. You saved her life.”  
Blackwall filled in the rest as Solas struggled to put the entire story together. “Cole tried to tell us what happened. After you left, a Venatori assassin’s arrow found its way home into her lung. Cole took her to a Dalish clan that was camped nearby. They kept her alive while Cole rode for Scout Harding. We managed to get her home, but it wasn’t pretty. We almost lost her several times.”

Rather than reply, Solas reached out with his magic, gently wrapping Vena in a sheathe of magic. He could feel her labored breathing, the liquid within making each breath torture as she slowly suffocated. Carefully he guided her body to heal the wound within, blood rushing to the source and knitting the flesh into wholeness once more. He twisted the magic and the blood that was keeping air from her lungs was absorbed back into her organs. She drew a shuddering breath. Another. A different turn of his magic and the pain she felt was washed away. She breathed easily now. He had no idea how long he’d be standing there, staring without seeing while his magic worked on her internally. Solas wobbled on his feet as a wave of dizziness consumed him. It had been a long time since he’d spent this much effort on any one thing, but it was worth it — she was worth it.

Vena’s eyes fluttered open. Her gaze passed over the crowd, pausing longer on some than others. The reaction was immediate. Josephine sank into a puddle of relief. Dorian whooped. Bull began to grin. Cassandra let out a ‘harumph’ while Leliana breathed a small sigh. Blackwall’s eyes widened with a whispered ‘my lady!’. Varric and Sera shook their heads. Vivienne nodded to herself, satisfied. Only Cole remained still and unsurprised.  
Vena took everyone in and blushed, eyes dropping to the fur around her waist. “Sorry. I’m sorry.” She worried at a tuft of fuzz that had come loose. “The last thing I remember… oh.” Vena raised her head to look at Solas. “You’re here? Does that mean… you’re back?” The older elf nodded quietly. “I wasn’t sure if- after what happened- um.”

Josephine took her cue from the Inquisitor’s awkwardness and shoo’d everyone else out of the room. Several of them shot Solas a look that strongly implied they would be having words later. Vena had no eyes for them, choosing instead to stare at her hands.

“I’ll admit, I considered not returning,” Solas started once the room was cleared. “But in the end… I have to finish what I started. I could hardly abandon you now. Ir abelas. I had no idea anything had happened to you.”  
Vena waved away the apology. “You were hurting. You’d lost a friend.” She refused to look him in the eyes.

“I’m pleased you understand. I’m here now, if there’s anything-?”

“No. Thank you.” It was a rather curt dismissal. Solas bowed slightly before turning to leave the younger woman to rest. “Solas?” He paused to look over his shoulder at Vena. “You didn’t have to mourn alone.”

He nodded once before continuing back to the rotunda, where Cullen, Blackwall, and Bull were waiting for him, arms crossed and anger burning in their eyes.

“She’s resting,” Solas began. The others never heard it.

“You think you can just waltz back in here-”

“How could you just take her and go off-”

“What in the Maker’s name were you hoping-”

Solas held up his hands. “The Inquisitor heard my request and agreed that time was of the essence. We didn’t go alone, Cole was with us as well, which means that I did not leave her alone in the wilds. Further, there was no possible way to predict that an assassin was lying in wait for her.”

“It was irresponsible!” Cullen roared. “If she had died…”

“She didn’t.”

“Thank the Maker. But that’s no excuse…”

“I never said it was. However, I have research to catch up on.”

Still glowering, the three men left Solas to his work.

The next few missions that Vena attended to were closer to home, at the request of her advisors. She took Bull with her everywhere and usually Cole, as she found his insights into various situations fascinating and often helpful. The others she rotated through regularly, with the notable exception of Solas. Him, she avoided, either entirely or by virtue of never being alone. When in the field, Vena would retire to her tent after barely touching her food. At Skyhold she would take her meals in her rooms. Her behavior did not go unnoticed by the Inner Circle - nor did the ever growing bags under her eyes, or the sag to her shoulders where she once stood proud and defiant, but every attempt to speak to her about it was rebuffed and covered over by the next mission, the next rift to close, the next problem to solve.

In her room, Vena stared into the fireplace, hands idly holding a stained teddy bear. Though the papers were on her desk, names floated in front of her eyes; Chancellor Roderick, Jennifer Hepler, Marcus Grieco, Scout Kenneth, Carlton Tucks, Captain Andrew Farrell and hundreds of others who had given their lives for her in some way or another; most in the attack on Haven. People she’d never even met who had died believing in her and the lie that she perpetuated every day, that she was the Herald of Andraste. Their ghosts haunted her dreams when darkspawn didn’t. Everyone expected her to be strong enough to lead. To know what was right, what to choice to make in any given situation. But she wasn’t a leader, or strong, or righteous, and that knowledge preyed on her mind in every waking moment. And now the time had come to put the Noble Savage on display at the Winter Palace, where every word was analyzed for double and triple meanings, where looking at someone the wrong way could start wars. But it had to be done, and like it or not she had been selected for the job. And she would do the best she could with what she had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for bearing with me, anyone who's still reading this after so long away! <3 This was really hard to write for a variety of reasons. I hope it reads okay! I also hope to get back to semi-regular updates! Next time: At the Winter Palace (at long last!).
> 
> Kudos and Comments are love and help motivate me to keep writing!

**Author's Note:**

> All critiques, edits, questions, and comments are very, very welcome and loved! Your comments keep me writing!


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